


Penance

by sinestrated



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Game, assassination attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 06:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after Tarqaron, Yuri's continued vigilante justice finally brings down deadly consequences...not on himself, but on the one he loves the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> This story assumes the rest of the party never found out about Yuri's murders.

Some things never changed.

Yuri Lowell looked down at the man currently cowering on the sandy ground before him. He was probably the first to witness the look of pure, utter terror on Alin Sidher’s face; the spoiled noble’s son didn’t strike Yuri as someone particularly used to presenting people with anything but contemptuous sneers. Funny how the threat of imminent death tended to bring out a whole slew of new facial expressions.

“Please.” Sidher’s voice came out little more than a pitiful squeak, barely audible in the stuffy Mantaic night. “I’ll give you anything you want—money, land, anything! Just please…”

Yuri tilted his head. His sword settled as a comfortable weight across his left shoulder, familiar and comforting. “I didn’t hear you giving the same consideration to all those innocent workers you killed.”

“That was different!” Sidher cried, voice strangled. “Those people—they _chose_ to work in the mine of their own accord! How was I supposed to know the cave would collapse?”

“And yet after the accident, all you could think of was covering your own ass. No investigation into the safety of the mine, no compensation for the families—not even one full week before you opened another site.” He brought his sword slowly down toward Sidher’s throat, savoring the man’s terrified whimper as he wove the tip between the strands of Sidher’s necklace, lifting it so that the coin-shaped stone at the end shimmered a thousand shades of blue in the moonlight. “And all for what? A few pounds of alderglass, good for nothing but some pretty jewelry.”

At that, Sidher’s face turned red, his whole body trembling. “This—This is a precious mineral! Even one kilogram is worth—”

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s gonna convince me not to kill you.”

He lifted his sword to press against a delicate, sweet-soaped throat. Sidher let out a long, shaky moan, and the air suddenly smelled of fresh urine. “Please, I beg you—my brother, he—”

Yuri shoved his blade forward. Sidher stiffened and made a terrible gurgling noise as ruthless steel pierced his neck, throwing forth an arterial spray of red. Yuri withdrew his sword and stepped back, watching as the nobleman clutched at the wound, heavily ringed fingers clawing at the skin in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It was no use. Within moments, the life left Sidher’s eyes and he slumped over, unmoving.

Yuri watched the body for a moment longer, the sound of the night wind and the distant chittering of desert insects his only company. He waited for the guilt, the sadness at having taken another human life, but it never came. Instead, he felt only the heavy, familiar weight of resignation. It seemed this really was his path to follow.

In the two years that had passed since the defeat of the Adephagos, Sidher was not the only person to die on his blade. As Yuri turned and slowly made his way back toward the inn, he thought over all the others, especially in the months immediately following Tarqaron. With the chaos and desperation in the immediate aftermath of losing the blastia, many had tried to take advantage while the Empire and the Union had their hands full. The governing bodies hadn’t had the resources to hunt down all those who exploited others, so Yuri had stepped in—a corrupt business tycoon here, a power-hungry minor politician there. The balance of the world had shifted; Yuri merely helped to even the scales. It was what was needed, and he accepted that.

More recently, however, things had improved. Under Emperor Ioder’s guidance and Estelle’s counsel, new laws had eventually been implemented, new decrees passed. The Ragous and Cumores of the past now saw themselves facing common justice regardless of wealth or connections. And within the Imperial Knights, Flynn had…

Yuri slowed in his steps, a familiar warmth blossoming in his chest as he thought of his oldest friend. In just two short years, Flynn had accomplished what most Commandants wouldn’t be able to manage through an entire career—he’d completely restructured the Knights, for one, creating several new divisions dedicated entirely to helping the people: infrastructure repair, a medical corps, disaster relief, everything. Yuri shook his head and couldn’t help but smile, remembering Flynn’s last letter detailing how thrilled LeBlanc had been about being placed in charge of the bridge construction unit. The man was certainly built for that kind of labor.

But the new Commandant’s influence had spread beyond just the rank and file of the Knights. Thanks to Flynn, every Imperial citizen charged with a crime—be it Imperial magistrate or Lower Quarter drunk—was now guaranteed the right to a fair trial with a jury of peers. Anyone who witnessed misconduct by a Knight could choose one of several routes to file a complaint directly with his or her respective Captain. And a complete overhaul of the military’s budget, taking money set aside for such ludicrous projects as the Heracles and funneling it into more proper channels, had resulted in considerable tax reform, lifting a large burden off the shoulders of Zaphias’s people as a whole.

Yes, overall, Flynn was doing wonders in working toward their childhood dream. Yuri’s heart swelled with pride every time he even thought of his friend and all he was doing to change the world. Flynn was _fixing_ things, just as he’d promised so long ago.

Yuri may have saved the world two years ago, but Flynn was the one who made it worth the effort. He couldn’t wait to get back to Zaphias in a few days, looking forward to his room above the Comet, the laughter of the Lower Quarter children, and the safety and home that was soft blond hair and a pair of bright, ocean-blue eyes.

A fresh breeze as he rounded the corner brought him a burst of warm, food-scented smells and the soft murmur of voices. He easily picked out Judith, Karol, and Raven among the buzz and hummed softly to himself, pausing for a moment to wipe the blood off his sword. Just because Brave Vesperia had built a sturdy if small reputation for itself over the past couple of years didn’t mean his fellow guild members needed to know what Yuri got up to in shadowy evenings between jobs.

Sidher was the first in almost six months. That was definitely saying something, right? And it wasn’t as if Yuri had come to the decision impulsively. As the son of a rich merchant who worked independently of Fortune’s Market, Sidher was outside the influence of both the Empire and the guilds. The alderglass mine had been a private enterprise located on the neutral continent of Hypionia, sponsored by Sidher and his family alone, and thus there had been no way to regulate the mining process or how he chose to treat his workers. It must have seemed like such a rosy prospect to thousands of people left poor and struggling without blastia: come work for a private company independent of any governing body. Sure, the hours are long and the pay isn’t great, but when it comes to putting food on the table, beggars can’t be choosers, right?

Until the mine collapsed. Until more than a hundred workers were buried under tons of rock and dirt, left to suffocate alone in the dark while Sidher scrambled to protect his profits and his own hide. Dahngrest couldn’t do anything since Sidher wasn’t associated with a guild, and though Flynn had sent a battalion of Knights to aid in digging the workers out, Sidher had somehow used his influence to block their entry at the port with supposedly “misplaced” paperwork until the miners had already perished. It didn’t take a genius to see why he’d done that: dead men tell no tales, after all.

The Union was powerless, and Flynn’s hands were tied. So when it became apparent Sidher was going to get out of this with nothing but a sore arm from slamming the door in the faces of the miners’ families, Yuri had taken things into his own hands.

A dark, familiar shape resolved itself just outside the door of the inn as Yuri approached, and he couldn’t help but slow his steps a little. Repede looked up, single eye regarding Yuri with a look heavy with reproach, and his tail, usually thumping against the floor the instant he picked up Yuri’s scent, now lay still and accusing against the sand-covered wood. The young swordsman sighed. Repede had made it clear from the beginning just what he thought of Yuri’s vigilante justice, but there was nothing to be done about it. In this bright new world Flynn was building, there were still bound to be messes, spills that no one else could clean up. And Yuri had long since resigned himself to dirtying his hands in order to keep Flynn’s clean. He had realized a long time ago that, for Flynn, he would do anything.

Still, that didn’t stop him from murmuring, “Sorry,” as he walked up to the inn’s front door. Repede growled softly, laid his head down on his paws, and closed his eye. Yuri managed a small smile at that. No matter what happened, he would always have his dog’s loyalty.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, pasted a smile on his face, and opened the door to his life and his friends.

 

The desert night had long cooled by the time he finally found the body. Kneeling in the sand, he reached out, brushing a calloused hand over a grey, lifeless cheek. The skin of his hand was covered in old burn scars, and two fingers were missing, nothing but rough, misshapen stumps.

“Oh, Alin,” he whispered, lost to the wind.

There was no response. Of course there wouldn’t be; Alin was dead. He had been murdered in cold blood by the so-called savior of the world.:Yuri Lowell, common criminal, street rat scum. The man who had destroyed his precious blastia, rendering them inert, useless, no longer capable of the bright and brilliant explosions he so enjoyed. Yuri Lowell, who had taken away the most precious person in the world to him.

He traced Alin’s alderglass pendant with one finger as his other hand clenched into a shaking fist. That fucking Lowell. He would pay for this. Lowell had killed Alin, his most loved one, so he would return the favor.

He would take away the person Lowell loved more than anything.

 

Flynn Scifo tried his best not to yawn as he listened to the Councilwoman’s latest speech. He had nothing against Lady Rivenworth; in fact, he greatly respected her knowledge and experience as a senior Council member, a woman who had begun her service to the Empire before Flynn was born. It was just…this was his last meeting of the day, and he’d skipped lunch in order to supervise drills, and his bed would be so warm and inviting right about now…

The sudden pain in his shin jolted him out of the drowsy fantasy. Flynn concealed his jump with a cough, and noted with relief that no one else in the room seemed to have noticed his lapse of concentration. Taking a breath, he turned just enough to give Sodia a smile and a nod of acknowledgment. The raised eyebrow he received in response practically screamed _You owe me._

Flynn bit his lip to keep from grinning at that and quickly turned back to Lady Rivenworth. What had she been talking about? Oh yes, the further closing of more than a dozen Imperial tax loopholes. No wonder Flynn had drifted off; the Knights’ budget aside, he’d never been much for accounting.

Still, the fact that they were even _having_ this discussion showed just how far the Empire had come in two short years. Flynn still remembered with a vague sense of horror the confusion and disarray those first few months after the blastia stopped working, people alternately blaming their leaders for the disaster and begging for help. Flynn himself had had a great deal of trouble adjusting, years of fighting with the aid of a bodhi blastia suddenly rendering him unfamiliar and almost utterly helpless with even the most basic of _kata_. He’d had to relearn everything from the ground up alongside the other Knights like a group of fresh new recruits.

Just as with every disaster, though, the Empire had rebuilt itself. And in the end, the loss of the blastia turned out to be something of a blessing: now that everyone was bereft, the traditional lines dividing the social classes had suddenly blurred, every Zaphian citizen regardless of Quarter now scrambling for the basics of survival. It had brought people together like no other circumstances could, and had opened up many of the nobles’ eyes to a world beyond fancy parties and age-old prejudices. The result: wave after wave of reform, designed to help all Imperial citizens regardless of birthright or bank account, and, two years later, Flynn wouldn’t hesitate to say they were all that much better off for it.

Of course, he never forgot who the real credit went to. Yuri was about due for his monthly visit to Zaphias; when his friend wasn’t out on jobs with his guild, he frequently stopped by the Imperial capital to check up on everyone in the Lower Quarter and to help out when needed. Usually that also meant he dropped by the castle to see Flynn, or Flynn went down to the Comet to make sure he hadn’t done anything stupid—or at least, stupider than usual. In the realm of idiocy, there was Dumb, there was Stupid, there was Holy Shit How Are You Even Still Alive, and then there was Yuri Lowell.

Still, nothing could keep Flynn from making time to see Yuri whenever he visited. It wasn’t only because Yuri was his closest friend, although Flynn never got tired of their friendly banter, the cheerful stories they related to each other over drinks, and their adrenaline-charged sparring matches. Yuri was his friend, no doubt about it, but he was also so much more than that: he was Flynn’s anchor, his constant, the one thing in Flynn’s universe he knew that, no matter what happened, would never change. Yuri was his rock, his home, his everything. Their relationship had been inevitable, really.

Heat rose in his cheeks at the thought, and Flynn quickly looked down, shuffling the papers in front of him. No one else knew about them yet (except Repede), and neither Flynn nor Yuri was in a hurry to make any sort of public announcement. They’d both agreed, those months after Tarqaron when everything finally boiled over and they started this terrifying, wonderful thing between them, that knowledge of the Imperial Commandant associating in such a way with a guildsman of Yuri’s repute would be fatal to Flynn’s career and the dream they both cared so much about. As such, not even Lady Estellise or Yuri’s other traveling companions knew about just how close they were, just how much long fingers and hot mouths could wander once behind the safety of closed doors. And surprisingly, Flynn found he liked it that way.

Of course he hoped one day they would be able to tell the others. He could, at least, imagine how happy Lady Estellise would be—she had never been one to fall in with the old-fashioned beliefs of the other aristocrats, and she genuinely cared for them both. But Yuri wasn’t ready, and, to a certain extent, neither was Flynn. Yes, when Yuri went off gallivanting around the world with his guild, Flynn missed him, sometimes so much it physically hurt. But when Yuri inevitably came back to Zaphias he was always _here_ , wholly and completely Flynn’s, the Commandant for once not having to compete with anyone else for his lover’s time and attention. He cherished those quiet, rare hours when it was just the two of them alone, locked away in the privacy of Flynn’s bedroom or, more commonly, Yuri’s room above the Comet, wrapped up in nothing but each other and the rest of the world be damned. He knew Yuri treasured those moments too, if the way he smiled at Flynn and the way his grip tightened around Flynn’s waist as they slept were any indication.

Yuri was his and he was Yuri’s; nothing could ever change that. And even though Flynn knew they wouldn’t be able to keep it under wraps forever, he could not remember a time when he had felt more content. He had a job he loved, a dream he was chasing, a wide network of supportive friends, and the love and devotion of the only person he’d ever wanted. Yes, all things considered, Flynn’s life was going pretty well.

“…and mitigate losses by thirteen percent over the next five years.” Lady Rivenworth’s voice drifted back into his consciousness, and Flynn sighed inwardly. Really, it wouldn’t do to nod off in the middle of a Council meeting, and to sappy thoughts of his secret lover, no less. He was going to have to start ordering stronger coffee in the morning or something.

“Thank you, Councilwoman.” From his seat at the head of the table, Ioder nodded to everyone in the room before rising. “That adjourns this meeting. Thank you all for coming.”

They all rose, and the room soon became filled with the sound of murmured conversation, the rustling of papers, and the shifting of clothes as people started making their exits. Flynn ran a hand backwards through his hair as he looked down at the papers in front of him: Lady Rivenworth’s report, none of which made any sense. That was just great. If he had just _listened_ to her, instead of drifting off into thoughts of Yuri…

“You know, if you stare at those long enough, you might actually be able to set them on fire.”

Flynn blinked and turned, then chuckled softly as Sodia regarded him with bright eyes. “If only.” He sighed, glanced quickly around to make sure no one else was listening, and lowered his voice. “Please tell me you took notes or something.”

“Of course.” Sodia winked. “We all know you’d be helpless without me, sir.”

Flynn grinned and shook his head. That was an understatement. Ever since he’d assumed his role as Commandant, Sodia had been indispensable, a solid and steady pillar of support as he stumbled through learning all the responsibilities that came with his new position. Even before the disaster with Alexei, the Adephagos, and losing all the world’s blastia, Sodia had always been invaluable as a second-in-command, a soldier, a confidante, and a friend.

Of course, Flynn had suspected Sodia’s steadfast devotion was due to deeper feelings for him, and he’d even gotten the lieutenant to admit as much one night over one too many drinks at the local tavern. Over the next few years, however, something had shifted between them—Flynn could never figure out exactly what, but due perhaps to time, maturity, or a combination of both, Sodia had apparently gotten over her crush and they had settled comfortably into their roles as lieutenant and commanding officer, playing smoothly off each other as only professional soldiers could. It was just as well. Flynn had never felt so guilty as when he’d gently informed Sodia he didn’t return her feelings, and he was proud of how she had been able to set her emotions aside and become the support he needed in these trying times.

…Not that he was about to admit that, though. “I do these things just to keep you on your toes, you know,” he said, as they exited the room together.

“Oh, no doubt about that, sir.”

Flynn laughed softly as they turned a corner, walking together down the hall toward his office. Several Knights snapped off salutes as they passed which he acknowledged with a nod. “No emergency fires to put out, then.”

“No,” Sodia agreed, tucking a file folder under her arm, “so yes, you are free to make that date with your bed you were drooling over all through the meeting.”

“I did not drool.”

“You would have if I hadn’t kicked you.”

“Physically assaulting your commanding officer is grounds for court martial.”

“Not when it’s deserved.”

That startled another laugh out of him. Really, Flynn couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have the friends he did. Not just Sodia, whom he could always trust at his back, but Lady Estellise, and Captain Schwann, and LeBlanc, and Hanks, and Ted…and, of course, Yuri.

…And there he went, thinking about Yuri again. Flynn sighed, brushing invisible lint off his armor. He wondered where Yuri was right now. His lover had mentioned a guild job in Desier somewhere, but hadn’t been specific about the details. Was he on his way back to Dahngrest yet? And when would he start out for Zaphias? Maybe Flynn could—

A flash of color broke him out of his musings and Flynn blinked, stopping in his tracks. As Sodia walked ahead, he stared at the strange man hurrying past, not sure what about him felt odd. He wasn’t dressed in any particularly strange manner: simple peasant garb, save for the red silk scarf around his neck covering half his face, but still, something about his posture, the way he held himself as he scurried down the hall without even glancing at Flynn…

Alarm bells suddenly exploded in his head, and Flynn turned just in time to see Sodia reach forward to open the door to his office. “Sodia, _no!_ ”

She turned the knob, pulled the door open—and the world exploded.

 

The sun had set by the time Ba’ul set them down just outside Dahngrest. Yuri yawned, taking a moment to stretch his back as they made their way into the city, Karol’s cheerful banter with Raven a welcome buzz in the background.

“My, but it’s nice to be home, isn’t it?” Judith remarked, gracing him with one of her soft, mysterious smiles.

Yuri nodded, but didn’t reply. There was no doubt that Dahngrest was a great place, especially for a relatively new guild still trying to build its status and prestige in a changed world. But, somehow, the city itself had never truly felt like home to him, even though he’d technically lived here for the last two years. To Yuri, home would always be somewhere else…or, more specifically, some _one_ else.

Walking next to him, Judith tilted her head. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

Yuri blinked, following her gaze to a small group of guildsmen gathered on a street corner, whispering under their breaths. Similar clumps of people were scattered all down the main street, nothing but furtive whispers and worried looks. Something heavy and somber hung in the air, a foreboding shroud that made all the hairs stand up at the back of Yuri’s neck. Something was wrong.

Raven and Karol must have also noticed the tense atmosphere because their conversation dried up. The older guildsman frowned, walking up to the nearest group. “Hey. What’s goin’ on?”

One of the men—they were from the Surveyors’ Guild, judging from the distinctive yellow hats—turned immediately to them, expression strained. “You haven’t heard?”

“We just got back,” Yuri said. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah.” If possible, the man’s voice dropped even lower. “There’s been an explosion at the Zaphian castle.” He paused. “Rumor is the Commandant’s dead.”

And Yuri felt the bottom drop out of his world.

 

About an hour later, Zaphias loomed on the horizon. Yuri swallowed and stared out at the city, not caring about how the wind stung his eyes as Ba’ul dipped with the current. Just a few more minutes…a few more minutes, and he could see Flynn.

He didn’t know what sort of expression he made upon receiving news of the explosion, but whatever it was, it had ensured no one tried to talk to him during the flight. It was just as well; Yuri didn’t think he could manage even a simple conversation right now. His mind, his soul, his entire _being_ now focused on Flynn, on reaching his friend to make sure he was alive and okay because no fucking _way_ was Flynn dead, he was smarter than that, he knew Yuri would never forgive him if he died…

As they approached the city, Yuri made out a thin column of smoke drifting up from the direction of the castle, clear even against the dark sky. Cold seeped into his bones, nothing at all to do with the dropping night temperature.

_Flynn, please be okay._

They were off almost the instant Ba’ul touched down, Repede barking and whining in an almost panicked fashion as he led them up toward the Royal Quarter, weaving their way through crowds still tense with residual fear. Yuri grit his teeth and blocked out their wails and confused cries, focusing instead on the blue slant of his dog’s tail as they raced up the streets, a single, desperate mantra repeating itself over and over with the rapid beating of his heart: _Flynn, Flynn, Flynn._

It seemed forever before they finally reached the castle. The scene was one of utter chaos: Knights shouted orders that were only occasionally followed, servants ran here and there in complete confusion, Council members alternately hurried away as fast as they could or demanded answers of people who didn’t have them.

Repede halted at the gates, turning in several circles with his nose pressed to the ground, whining in confusion at the mixture of a hundred different scents. Yuri grit his teeth. Where to now?

“Should we start at the scene of the explosion?” Karol asked, still slightly out of breath.

“No, I would assume they’d have moved Flynn to a more secure location by now,” Raven replied, the seriousness of the situation settling Captain Schwann over his shoulders like a new uniform.

Judith shook her head. “So then where—”

“Yuri Lowell!”

They all turned as LeBlanc shouldered his way through a gaggle of Knights toward them, expression determined. Yuri bared his teeth and curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword. He’d humored LeBlanc before, but if he was going to step in with his overblown antics now—

“The Commandant has been moved to Lady Estellise’s private rooms,” LeBlanc said, and there was nothing overblown about his expression. “Please follow me.”

Well, they certainly didn’t have to be told twice.

LeBlanc led them through a maze of hallways and stairwells—it seemed Estelle had chosen to move out of her old room where Yuri had first met her so many years ago. They ended up somewhere in the west wing of the palace, tucked away from the noise and the chaos so that it reached them as nothing but distant echoes.

LeBlanc paused for a moment at the door to look back at them, one hand on the knob. “Please…be respectful,” he murmured. Yuri swallowed against the lump in his throat as the Knight pulled open the door.

The first thing Yuri saw when he stepped into the room was the last glowing yellow remnants of a healing arte. Then, abruptly, a flash of pink as Estelle shot out of the chair she’d been sitting in, sword already drawn. “Who is it? Who’s—”

She paused, staring at them. The room got very quiet. Yuri looked past her at the pale form lying on the bed, familiar in blue and white, and felt his heart leap into his throat.

Abruptly, Estelle swayed. Yuri moved to catch her but Judith got there first, supporting the princess against her as she gave Yuri a silent nod.

Yuri swallowed and approached the bed. Everything seemed to move slowly, as if the very air was thick with invisible molasses as he came up to Flynn, lying pale and still against the sheets. And what he saw made anger, guilt, and torrid, mind-numbing grief twist his insides into knots.

Flynn was dead; he had to be. There was no way anyone could have survived such grievous wounds: burns scoured fully half his body, now healed to light pink scars thanks to Estelle, and blood still flowed freely—if slowly—from dozens of pin-like wounds all over his arms and torso. His head was also bandaged, white slowly staining pink, and a long diagonal scar ran lightning-like down his left cheek, cutting through the burn marks like a river through a rocky canyon.

A high-pitched whine and Repede rushed by him, nosing at whatever part of Flynn he could reach: his hand, his arm, his freshly-healed shoulder. Mechanically, Yuri stepped forward and reached down, touching gentle fingers to Flynn’s wrist, feeling the rough bump of new scarring as he held his breath and waited… _please, Flynn,_ please…

And there it was: the slow, steady drumbeat of a pulse, and just like that, the darkness that had seeped into Yuri’s world retreated somewhat. He took a breath, not even caring how shaky it was, and wrapped his fingers gently around Flynn’s own. _I knew it_ , he thought. _I knew you’d never leave me._

Behind him, silk cloth rustled. “He’s alive,” Estelle whispered, sounding a strange mixture of relieved and exhausted. “I got to him in time, which is more than I can say about…about…” Her voice abruptly cracked and she curled into Judith, shoulders shaking.

Yuri turned, and for the first time noticed a distinctly human-shaped form on the ground in the corner of the room, covered with a sheet. Raven straightened his shoulders and stepped forward, kneeling down and lifting the corner. He drew in a shaky breath at the face underneath, quickly covering it back up. “Sodia,” he breathed. “ _Shit._ ”

Trembling gasps all around. Yuri, for his part, just turned away, focusing instead on Flynn’s sleeping face. Repede whined, nosing at their joined hands, and Yuri tightened his grip as much as he dared, trying not to think about Sodia, the last time he’d seen her: straight-shouldered and resolute at Flynn’s side, providing the loyalty and devotion Yuri could never offer. Despite their disagreements, Sodia was a good soldier, exactly what Flynn needed, and the only person Yuri trusted besides himself and Repede to have Flynn’s back. To lose her…

No. Yuri bit his lip and looked down at Flynn, so small and vulnerable like a wounded animal. It wouldn’t do to dwell on that now, not when his lover needed him. They would grieve Sodia in their own ways over the coming days. What they needed to focus on now was Flynn, healing him, taking care of him…and, ultimately, avenging him.

A soft growl, and Yuri looked down to meet Repede’s single eye, bright with agreement. Straightening, he turned to Estelle. “Do you have any idea who did this?”

The pink-haired princess was still leaning on Judith for support, eyes bright with fresh tears, but when she sniffed and straightened her shoulders, her voice was surprisingly steady. “No. I’ve been trying to narrow down possibilities since it happened, but I don’t have anything yet.”

“Don’t tell me Flynn doesn’t have enemies,” said Raven, coming back around to join them in front of the bed. “Not after what happened two years ago.”

“No, but that’s the just the thing,” Estelle answered. “Flynn has _too many_ enemies. From more traditional Council members, to nobles who recently lost their tax advantages, to those soldiers still loyal to Alexei’s ideas. With such a long list, we don’t know where to start. The only clue we have right now is the glass.”

Karol blinked. “The what?”

In response, Estelle pulled back from Judith—giving the Krityan a brief nod of thanks—and crossed to the nightstand, picking up a small glass jar. As she brought it up to them, the light of the room caught on a familiar blue glint—and the breath froze in Yuri’s lungs.

“These shards were embedded in both Flynn and Sodia’s wounds,” Estelle said, oblivious to the sudden trembling of Yuri’s hands. “Captain LeBlanc said they most likely came from whatever bomb the assassin used in the castle.”

Raven nodded, expression grim. “Shrapnel; we used to see that a lot in the Great War. It was almost always metal, though—does more damage that way. Why would this assassin use glass?”

“Wait, that’s not glass, it’s rock,” Karol said, taking the jar from Estelle and turning it this way and that in the light. Its contents seemed to wink at Yuri, small, brilliant flashes of wicked knowing. _It’s you,_ they whispered. _This is all on you._

“It’s a rare mineral only found in Hypionia,” Karol continued. “I think they call it alderglass.”

And for the second time that day, Yuri’s world shattered. He barely heard Judith and Estelle’s quiet questions or the soft rumble of Raven’s advice, staring instead down at Flynn, at the multitude of tiny cuts on his body from the shrapnel—from the _alderglass._ No, it couldn’t be—Alin Sidher was dead, Yuri had killed him himself the previous night! It was impossible; who else could—

A sudden snarl sounded out, and Yuri yanked his hand back from Flynn’s an instant before Repede’s jaws snapped shut in the air where his fingers had been. He stumbled back, staring at his dog as he planted himself firmly in front of Flynn’s bed, tail up, fur rising all down his back as he bared his teeth.

“Yuri!” Karol rushed up, looking back and forth between them in surprise and not a little fear. “What’s going on? What’s gotten into him?”

Yuri just shook his head, stepping forward. “Repede—”

Repede growled, low and menacing. The glint of his single eye fixed on Yuri, cold and accusing. _You did this,_ it hissed. _You are not pack._

“Yuri…?” Estelle, eyes wide with worry and disbelief.

And, all of a sudden, Yuri couldn’t take it anymore—not Estelle’s sisterly concern, or Karol’s childish confusion, or Judith’s judgment or Raven’s quiet look or Repede’s fury. Or Flynn’s broken, damaged body, the result of Yuri’s doing. The man he loved more than anything, now fighting for his life because of Yuri’s mistake.

The world closed in on him: oppressive, suffocating. Accusations bounced about in his skull, screams and laughter that set his head spinning so that it was all he could manage to turn and stumble blindly from the room, barely hearing Estelle’s worried shout as he bolted down the hallway, weaving side to side like a drunken man as he staggered toward the nearest set of glass doors. Cold air blasted him as soon as he lurched through them, the prickle of grass damp between his fingers as he fell to his knees but Yuri barely felt it because this was his fault, it was all on him, Flynn had nearly _died_ because of him—

He barely had time to pull his hair back from his face before he promptly lost his lunch all over the lawn.

 

Some time later, Yuri looked up at the sliver of moon shining down overhead, a soft luminescent curve like a giant sideways wink in the sky. Flynn used to say that was because the moon was privy to cosmic secrets. He sighed, looking down at his hands in his lap. Flynn used to say a lot of things.

Other than a couple of passing Knights casting curious glances at the lone man slouched in the courtyard, no one had come by for him. Yuri thought it was just as well. He didn’t deserve the others’ sympathy, their soft touches or comforting words. Not after what he’d done.

He hoped Flynn was okay. Estelle had seemed pretty confident that he would survive, but his injuries…Yuri suppressed a shudder. The burns and shrapnel wounds peppering his friend’s body— _he_ was responsible for those. Maybe he hadn’t been the one to plant the bomb, to trigger it…but in the end, Yuri knew he was just as guilty of Flynn’s almost-murder as the true assassin was.

About half an hour ago, he’d heard an echoing growl from somewhere in the castle that could only have been Repede. But the dog had not approached him, and Yuri couldn’t blame him. Repede, after all, was the only one who knew about Alin Sidher and the alderglass, and Yuri thought had he been in Repede’s place, he would have ripped his throat out by now.

He couldn’t deny, though, that he desperately wanted his dog by his side. Not just for the moral support—although Repede had certainly gotten both Flynn and himself through their fair share of rough times—but because having Repede around always seemed to clear Yuri’s head and help him think better. And right now, he needed that more than anything.

Soft footsteps approached, echoing strangely on the castle’s stone floors an instant before a new presence settled on the grass next to him. Glancing sideways, Yuri caught a glimpse of purple. “Hey, old man.”

“Hey yerself,” Raven answered.

They were silent for a moment after that. Yuri closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of Zaphias trickling to them through the still air. Many a night he and Flynn had fallen asleep together listening to those sounds. Could his lover hear them now?

A slight shifting next to him. Then: “So I take it yer pooch’s sore with ya for a reason.”

Yuri barely concealed a wince; Raven certainly wasn’t beating around the bush with this one. “Yeah.”

He didn’t elaborate further, but Raven seemed to understand he didn’t have to prompt, instead giving a noncommittal hum and looking up at the moon. After a few seconds, Yuri sighed. “I fucked up bad, Raven,” he whispered, voice shaking.

“Oh?” Raven’s gaze didn’t stray from the sky. “How d’ya figure that?”

“I…I may have angered someone. Someone willing to send me a message using the alderglass and…and Flynn.”

“Huh.” To Raven’s credit, the lightness of his tone suggested they might have been discussing the weather. “And what didja do ta make this guy so mad?”

“I.” Yuri swallowed and looked down, picking halfheartedly at the neatly-cut grass. “I killed someone.”

Another brief silence. Then Raven said, quietly, “This someone wouldn’t happen ta be Alin Sidher, would it?”

 That startled Yuri into looking straight at him, and whatever expression he had made Raven smile ruefully and look away. “This old man hears things,” he murmured. “Like how, this mornin’, Sidher’s body was found behind a warehouse in Mantaic. Throat opened by a sword. And considerin’ his less-than-admirable business tactics with the mine an’ all…” He shrugged, though it was anything but nonchalant. “Ya never fooled me, kid.”

Yuri stared. “Then…the others…?”

“Yep, knew about ‘em too,” Raven answered. “Ragou an’ Cumore an’ all of ‘em. Can’t say I approved of it, but with everythin’ else goin’ on I wasn’t gonna stop ya. And I always figured you’d learn after a while…you’d learn that ain’t the way ta do things.”

He paused, then looked straight at Yuri, eyes dark with gravity. “But it seems ya didn’t learn that lesson ‘til now. ‘Til someone ya loved got hurt ‘cause of it.”

The disappointment in his voice lanced through Yuri’s heart and he swallowed and turned away, feeling heat prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I never meant for this to happen.”

Raven’s voice softened. “Maybe, but that don’t change the fact it _did_ happen. So what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it?”

Yuri shook his head. “I don’t know.” He clenched his fists, swallowing against the rising wave of helplessness and guilt. “I just…don’t know.”

“Hm.” Raven reached up to tug at his ponytail. “Well, ya could talk ta Flynn about it. I think he deserves that much, don’tcha think?”

And, as much as the suggestion struck fear in Yuri’s heart, a guilt-wracked terror that made Tarqaron and the Adephagos seem little more than a child’s game, Yuri knew Raven was right. He had to tell Flynn. He had to face judgment for what he’d done. “Yeah,” he murmured, then frowned when a strong hand seized his arm and hauled him to his feet. “Wha—hey, what’re you doing?”

“You can tell Flynn now,” Raven said, with a soft smile, “‘cause he’s awake. An’ he’s askin’ fer ya.”

 

Crouched on a rooftop in the shadows of a tiled awning, he watched Lowell and Schwann head back into the castle. His fists clenched in frustration, a snarl curling his lips. As satisfying as it had been to see Lowell’s reaction to the Commandant’s condition, it wasn’t enough. Flynn Scifo was supposed to be _dead_ , damnit, and if he had made his escape quicker, if he had not caught the Commandant’s attention at the last minute as he made his break after planting the bomb…

But no use dwelling on that now. Scifo was alive, but he would finish the job. Having his friends around guarding him twenty-four-seven would make him harder to kill, but he had vowed to make Lowell suffer by destroying his world, and he would make sure that happened or die trying. For himself, and for Alin.

Reaching down, he caressed the small circular contraption currently looped on the end of a long strap that crossed his shoulder like a travel bag. Roughly the size of a water canteen, it was his best invention since the destruction of the blastia, since he found he could no longer rely on aer to feed his beautiful weapons. The tiny machine operated on something he liked to call _magnetism_ , using invisible energy fields generated by specially-made metal coils placed in specific configurations to fuse his bombs together from gunpowder, metal, and alderglass. The light blue mineral had been a last-minute addition; Alin had loved it so, and he wanted it to be clear to Lowell just who he was fucking with. Judging from the way the man had stumbled into the courtyard earlier, vomiting all over the grass…he’d gotten the message loud and clear.

Tightening the strap of his machine around his shoulders, he crouched down in the shadow of the awning, watching the glass doors through which Lowell and his friend had disappeared. It was only a matter of time, now. The instant Scifo became vulnerable, the instant his friends decided to leave him unguarded…he would go in for the kill.

 

The first thing Yuri noticed as he and Raven approached the room was the tiny particles of glowing yellow aer, accompanied by the familiar warmth of Estelle’s healing artes. They paused just outside the door, and next to him Raven tucked his hands behind his head, tapping his foot twice before nodding. “Good luck,” he said, and continued down the hall alone.

Taking a deep breath, Yuri pushed the door open.

Two heads turned upon his entrance. One was Estelle, lines of strain and exhaustion etching her delicate features even as she gave him a tired smile. “Yuri,” she said, and the light of her arte faded away, leaving only the silence and Flynn.

Flynn, sitting up against the headboard, looking tired and pale but unmistakably _alive._ It seemed Estelle hadn’t paused in her work: the bandages around Flynn’s head had come off in the last hour, and many of the shrapnel wounds on his torso had either been healed or were covered in small patches of gauze. In truth, the pallor of his skin and the multitude of wounds made Flynn look like someone still walking the fine line between the dead and the living—but the way his blue eyes lightened when he saw Yuri, the way the brief confusion melted into something warm and much softer, spoke of which side he had chosen.

“Yuri,” Flynn said then, soft. His voice came out raspier than usual, perhaps due to the freshly-healed shrapnel wound at the base of his neck, but still Yuri didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to hear his own name.

Relief and overwhelming joy rose within him, mixing with the anger and guilt to create a churning storm. He took a step forward, noticed that his hand was shaking, and curled it around the sheath of his sword. “Hey. How…How are you feeling?”

Flynn didn’t answer immediately. They watched each other for a moment, blue burning into black. Yuri swallowed, fingers digging into the sheath and he was going to leave marks in the leather but he didn’t care, _couldn’t_ care, not when Flynn was right here, awake and alive when one tiny misstep would have stolen him away from Yuri forever…

Abruptly, Flynn turned to Estelle. “Lady Estellise, thank you very much for your help,” he murmured, the steadiness of his voice betraying the way his fingers curled tightly in the folds of his blanket. “Would you mind…?”

“Huh? Oh!” Estelle nodded and rose from her chair, pausing for a moment to straighten her skirts. “Yes, you two should catch up—I’m sorry, I’ll just…” And with that she swept quickly past Yuri toward the door in a rush of pink, white, and lightly floral perfume.

The door had barely clicked shut before Yuri’s sword hit the floor. Two broad steps took him to the bed and Flynn met him halfway, fingers curling in the front of Yuri’s shirt as they kissed, warm and deep and passionate. The relief blossomed like a flower in Yuri’s chest, and he could no longer hide the way his fingers trembled as he touched them to Flynn’s cheek, his jaw and ear and shoulder and anywhere he could reach even as he marveled at the familiar press of his lover’s lips to his own. Flynn was here. Stars, he was _safe._

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, how long they kissed and touched and memorized each other once more, but when Yuri’s questing fingers pressed over a piece of gauze taped over Flynn’s chest he jerked back with a hiss, bumping against the headboard. “Ah, careful…”

“Sorry,” Yuri whispered, and glanced down. There were so many, patches of white decorating Flynn’s torso like some sort of strange cancer, and he touched one on Flynn’s abdomen gently, careful not to apply pressure. “Gods, Flynn…”

“I know.” Flynn tried a smile, but Yuri could read the pain in his face like it was written there. He reached down and curled his fingers around Flynn’s hand, tracing the roughness of the new scarring as Flynn continued, “I was afraid Estellise would collapse if she tried to heal all of them. It’s really worse than it looks.”

To his credit, he had the decency to wither under Yuri’s glare. “Flynn, you almost _died._ ”

“Yes, but I didn’t.” Flynn squeezed his hand, then sighed, voice dropping. “If only everyone had been so lucky.”

Yuri swallowed, following his gaze to the corner of the room, where a slight discoloration in the carpet was all that remained of Sodia’s body. Turning back, he placed his other hand over Flynn’s. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Flynn’s expression crumpled for just a moment before he ducked his head and looked away. His voice dropped, barely audible in the still night. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Somewhere in the distance, a voice that sounded distinctly like LeBlanc’s shouted something about barricading the gates, followed by a chorus of “Yes, sir”s and the clanking of armor. Yuri looked down at his and Flynn’s joined hands, tracing the web of scarring that ran from the tips of Flynn’s index finger and thumb all the way down to the top of his wrist. Estelle had done truly marvelous work: Yuri could only imagine how bad the flesh had looked only a few hours before, flayed open and blistered from the bomb blast.

The thought of the attack sent another confused mix of fury and ice-cold guilt surging through his veins. Whoever had done this had been trying to send Yuri a message, loud and clear and deadly. And if Flynn had died…

Flynn’s sudden sigh broke him out of his thoughts. His lover shifted, turning to look out the window; the pale moonlight seeping in through the glass painted his features soft and spirit-like. “I’ve placed Captain Eralen in charge of investigating this attack, and Schw—Raven has agreed to help out as well. It’s frustrating not having any true leads, though, beyond a suspicious man with a red scarf.”

Yuri blinked and lifted his head. “Red scarf?”

“Yeah. Light brown hair, red scarf; that’s all I have to go on. Don’t even know what his motive could’ve been, although I’d imagine it’s highly personal. If the attack were for political reasons, they would surely have targeted other people of import as well, such as Ioder or Estellise…”

He trailed off, looking at Yuri. “…But you already knew that.”

Yuri sighed, and all of a sudden couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

Flynn touched his cheek, calloused fingers gentle as always. “Yuri?”

The soft concern in his voice was almost physically painful; here Flynn was, body torn apart and just barely pieced back together, and all he could worry about was Yuri. It was so very _Flynn_ , and made Yuri’s heart hurt all the more.It was all he could manage to turn away and close his eyes. “I…I think I know who attacked you. Or, at least, why.”

A brief silence. The fingers on his face froze and slowly withdrew. When at last Flynn spoke again, his voice could only be described as careful. “Explain.”

The churning guilt in his stomach suddenly became too much, and Yuri abruptly stood, taking a step away from the bed and turning to gaze into the corner. Then he realized it was the same corner where Sodia’s body had been, and quickly faced the door instead.

He didn’t speak for a long time. Flynn’s gaze burned into his back, but in an uncharacteristic show of patience, his friend didn’t say a word. Yuri found with a jolt that his silence on this matter was even more painful than any amount of yelling would have been.An eternity passed before he finally took a breath and straightened his shoulders. Flynn deserved to know. It might mean the end of their relationship, their friendship, everything Yuri had come to treasure more than anything else in the world…but he had no right to keep this from him.

“Do you remember the collapse of the alderglass mine last month?” His voice came out low, mechanical, dead.

A soft rustle of bedsheets behind him. He could imagine the look of confusion on Flynn’s face. “Yes. The proprietor held us up at the port. What was his name…Sitter?”

“Alin Sidher.” Yuri clenched his hands into fists. “The Empire couldn’t touch him, and neither could the Union. He was outside all the laws.” He took a deep breath. “And you know how I react to people in that gray area.”

A long, heavy silence followed. Somewhere on the other side of the castle, someone dropped something heavy with a crash and a litany of colorful curses.

When at last Flynn spoke, his voice was soft: laced with disappointment and the beginning traces of realization. “You killed him,” he murmured.

 Yuri closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Then the bomb…and the alderglass shards…”

“Yes.” Yuri sighed, unable to bring himself to turn around, not wanting to see the anger and betrayal in those eyes he loved so much. “Someone tried to kill you to get revenge on me.”

Behind him, Flynn drew in a long, shaky breath. Another long pause, broken only by the whisper of the wind outside, the distant shouts of Knights and servants, and Yuri’s own heartbeat thudding an executioner’s toll in his ears.

Then the bed creaked, and suddenly something seized Yuri’s shoulder and jerked him around. He barely got a glimpse of blond hair and furious blue before pain exploded in his jaw and the world slammed sideways, sending him stumbling into the dresser.

Through the haze of agony, he stared up at Flynn, fist still cocked. The effort of getting out of bed showed in the paleness of his features and the trembling of his legs, but the look of pure, utter wrath in his eyes was unmistakable. He grit his teeth and took a step forward. “Get out,” he hissed.

Yuri coughed, straightening up and reaching out. “F-Flynn—”

“Sodia _died_ because of you,” Flynn snapped, and the ugly hatred in his voice tore through Yuri’s heart like a steel blade. “ _Get out_.”

And, without another thought, Yuri went. He fled the room like a child at the threat of a beating, not even caring that he left his sword discarded on the floor. He stumbled around corners, through hallways, and down stairs, chased all the while by the whiplash of Flynn’s words, until his legs finally gave out and he collapsed against the wall, curling into himself. The tears finally flowed, small choked sobs that wracked his entire body, and Yuri didn’t even try to fight against them. He didn’t care who saw him, or what they thought.

Yuri had always been able to read Flynn like the back of his hand, so he knew the fury, the disgust and pure, boiling _hatred_ in those fierce blue eyes had been real.

He had destroyed them. And everything was lost.

 

Well, things were certainly proceeding nicely. He watched as Lowell stumbled from the room, the pain on the other man’s face making him smile. He’d known targeting Scifo was a good idea; Lowell would have taken his own death with nothing but that infuriating grin, but shattering his relationship with his closest friend…it seemed even the savior of the world couldn’t stand up to that.

Of course, the job was only half-finished. And he’d never been one to abandon projects before completion. How unprofessional would it be if he set out to kill Flynn Scifo and only ended up scarring him? It would dishonor his legacy—as a fighter and as a Knight. He was here to make Lowell suffer just as Alin had suffered, and the only way to do that was to claim Scifo’s life. Then, and only then, would Alin truly be avenged.

And it seemed, finally, that the time had come. Lowell, the idiot, had left the Commandant alone and unguarded the instant he fled the room, and he would be damned if he let this opportunity slip by. He watched Scifo stagger back to the bed, entire body shaking as he leaned on the bedpost for support: weak, injured, and entirely at his mercy. Slowly, his hand dropped to finger the hilt of the dagger tied at his waist. It wasn’t his weapon of choice—so straightforward, clean, _boring_ —but it would get the job done. It wouldn’t give him the same satisfaction as an explosion that left Scifo splattered all over the walls of the room, but in the end it would make Lowell scream, and that was all that mattered.

Slowly, carefully, he crept out of his hiding place and edged over the roof toward his target.

 

Yuri didn’t know how long he sat there, knees drawn up to his chest, head ducked behind his arms. He only knew that when the soft click of heels approached out of the darkness and a gentle, feminine voice murmured, “Uh oh,” it took everything he had not to start crying again.

To her credit, Judith didn’t say anything as she settled on the floor next to him, and Yuri kind of wanted to hug her for that. He didn’t, though, instead opting to wipe his eyes with his sleeve and clear his throat. “Uh,” he said, when the silence drew out too long and he found himself casting about for a topic of conversation that didn’t involve Flynn and the deep, burning ache in his heart that accompanied his lover’s image. “So…where’s Repede?”

“We locked him in the castle kitchens,” Judith answered, smooth as ever. “He made it quite clear what he thought of that idea, but I think having the meat locker opened for him on Estelle’s orders helped some.” Her voice was its usual lilt underlined with an edge of sternness: _I’ll play along for now, but don’t think you’re off the hook._

Yuri managed a smile at that. “Great. He’ll never be satisfied with just dinner scraps now.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Judith tilted her head, and Yuri tried not to squirm under her calm, assessing gaze. “Raven told me what happened. Don’t worry,” she added, as alarm shot through his spine, “Karol and Estelle don’t know. We figured it’s better that way.”

“Oh.” Yuri sighed, looking down at the scuff marks on his boots. “I…I understand if you hate me.”

“Hm.” Judith tugged thoughtfully on a strand of long, purple hair. “I suppose I could, given the circumstances. But that really wouldn’t help Flynn, would it? And that’s what’s most important right now.”

“Yeah.” Yuri didn’t look at her, but he couldn’t help the rush of relief at her words. “Thanks, Judy.”

The Krityan gave a soft hum. “So what do you plan to do now?”

“I don’t know.” Yuri rolled his shoulders. “Although I suppose finding the guy who did this and putting my sword through his eye would be a good start.”

“Huh. Better get in line then.” Judith smiled. “And the good news is that Rita is on her way. I’m sure, after taking a look at the evidence, she’ll have some ideas.”

Yuri nodded but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t deny that Rita would be invaluable to the investigation: her knowledge of machines and weaponry was sure to turn up some clues about the bomb and the assassin behind it. But that didn’t change the fact of his guilt. It didn’t change that Yuri was ultimately responsible for destroying Flynn’s trust in him.

Next to him, Judith hummed and rose to her feet. “Well, no use sitting around like this,” she said. “I was thinking of going to question some of the guards who witnessed the blast; you never know what they might’ve…Yuri?”

But Yuri hardly heard her, lost in the sudden wave of cold and sickening _fear_ washing over him like a tsunami. _Guards._ When he’d left Flynn’s room earlier, there had been no guards outside the door.

His lover was on the other side of the castle, with an assassin after him, severely injured and completely, utterly _alone._

Panic gripping his heart, Yuri spun and sprinted down the hallway.

 

Flynn couldn’t remember ever being this angry before.

Yes, he knew rage—had felt it on and off throughout his life: in his childhood, watching the nobles sniff down their noses at him and Yuri and the other residents of the Lower Quarter; as a Knight, his efforts to change things and help others hampered at every turn by stubborn superiors and snot-nosed magistrates; as the Commandant, fighting tooth and nail for every political inch he gained toward realizing his and Yuri’s dream of an equal and just Empire.

It also wasn’t the first time he’d been mad at Yuri either. Most days his lover irritated him in one way or another—he was _Yuri_ , what did you expect—and there had even been times Flynn felt truly infuriated with him, such as when he’d found Yuri’s wanted poster. So that feeling of hot, boiling anger right now turning his insides into molten, red-hot magma? It wasn’t exactly new.

What _was_ new was the pain. It opened a hole in him, empty and dark, like an eye in the middle of a hurricane, except this one wasn’t characterized by peace and calm but rather the soul-deep ache of _loss_. Because of Yuri, because of his friend’s twisted sense of justice and inability to see beyond the tip of his own sword, Sodia was gone. His friend, his second, his strong, steady beam of support…she was dead now, because Yuri thought he deserved to play god.

Flynn couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Yes, what Sidher had done was wrong, and yes, his standing outside both the Empire and the Union made it difficult to punish his crimes. But Flynn would have found a way. He was already changing the laws in so many ways, and, with enough time and investigation, he would have brought Sidher to justice somehow. Yet Yuri hadn’t trusted him to do so, had gone and meted out judgment the way he saw fit. He’d killed Sidher in cold blood, with no remorse, just like he’d done during his journey, as if nothing had changed, as if everything Flynn had been working toward the past two years meant nothing.

That was what hurt the most: that, even after all this time, Yuri didn’t _trust_ him. Flynn kept trying to build a world where Yuri could proudly walk by his side, while his lover seemed determined to retreat further and further away. Was this what they were destined to be? Was everything they’d done, the fights and dreams and the _love_ they shared, all for nothing?

Flynn bit his lip, wincing as fresh pain erupted in his chest. It wasn’t just from his wounds, he knew. Would this be the thing that broke them at last? Could he ever even forgive Yuri for what he’d done?

Hissing out a breath, he lowered himself gingerly onto the bed, careful not to jostle his injuries. When he’d first woken up after the blast, all he could think of was Yuri: holding him, kissing him, making sure he was still here. And he knew from the way Yuri had run to him after Estellise left that his lover felt the same way. These past two years just being with Yuri and _having_ him in all the ways Flynn always wanted had been the best of his life. Flynn didn’t want to lose that, not after having fought so hard for it, but stars, he was _so angry._ Why did he have to go and fall in love with such a goddamned _idiot?_

Another twinge of pain, this one dancing up his arm like a live wire, and Flynn winced, pressing a hand to the pink scar tissue. He couldn’t hold on to this anger forever. He needed to talk to Yuri again, whether to start taking the first steps toward forgiveness, or to end things between them for good. He felt torn, his heart rent asunder by opposing forces: the rage and grief at losing Sodia on one hand, the lingering, burning need to take refuge in his lover’s embrace on the other. What should he do? Could he really—

What was that?

Alarm bells went off in his head, years of military training putting all his senses on high alert as he froze, listening for…there. The barest scrape of something along the wall…at the window. It was _at the window—_

The sudden _crash_ of breaking glass and Flynn flung himself off the bed on instinct—and not a second too soon, as the telltale _swish_ of a blade sang past his ear. Fresh agony erupted all through his body as he hit the floor but he grit his teeth against the pain and kept rolling, grabbing for the sword Yuri had dropped on his retreat from the room earlier—

He barely got the blade unsheathed and raised before metal clashed against metal. The force of the blow brought Flynn to his knees, everything exploding in pain as fresh injuries protested the strain but he clamped down on his body’s cries, instead glaring up at the attacker’s face. The man now trying to force a small dagger toward his chest was roughly Raven’s age, and the square-jawed, stubbled face was completely unfamiliar. Flynn didn’t need to wonder who he was, though. If the dagger didn’t tell the tale, the blood-red scarf around the man’s neck certainly did.

Bracing with one knee against the ground, Flynn shoved up with all his strength, sending the man staggering back. He tried to rise then, but was blindsided by a wave of dizziness, pain wracking his entire body so that it was all he could do to groan and lean on Yuri’s sword to stay upright. The world spun and something in his chest suddenly flared up, like a thousand needles pushing into his flesh. The agony was excruciating, like nothing he’d ever felt, like his very heart was trying to crawl out of his body—or something else was trying to crawl in.

Across from him, the assassin heaved to his feet, and all Flynn could do was stare through rapidly-darkening vision as he brought his dagger up, eyes shining with nothing but hatred. “For Alin,” he hissed, and as he leapt forward Flynn closed his eyes and thought, _Yuri…_

“ _Flynn!_ ”

The voice—familiar, warm, _everything_ —jolted him back and he could only stare as something dark barreled past him, slamming into the assassin and sending them tumbling to the floor in a pile of limbs. Yuri was up first, planting himself firmly between Flynn and his would-be killer, and Flynn had never been happier to see the long hair and broad, familiar shoulders. As if answering a prayer, his lover had come for him.

A sharp bark sounded out, and Flynn lurched around to see Repede fly into the room, dagger at the ready, followed by Judith, Karol, Estellise, and Raven. The older guildsman stiffened upon seeing the assassin, fingers twitching around the grip of his bow. “Asta…?”

The assassin—Asta—sneered and took a couple steps back. His eyes settled once again on Flynn, shining with a dark fury. “What loyal subjects you have, Commandant,” he said.

Flynn shook his head, trying—and failing—to clear it. “What…What do you want?”

“A life for a life,” the strange man answered, before he fixed Yuri with a piercing glare. “It’s only fair.”

“You bastard—”

And then Flynn couldn’t hear anymore, a fresh wave of pain erupting from his chest. He gasped, clawing at his heart—something was _wrong,_ something—

“Flynn!” Estellise rushing toward him, but he couldn’t focus all of a sudden, darkness slamming in like a curtain pulled over his consciousness, a shroud of agony and confusion and mind-numbing _fear_. Distantly he thought he heard a laugh, a thump and a shout that might’ve been Yuri’s but they were all so far away all of a sudden, torn away from him like whispers into darkness, and for a moment all he knew was pain, pain and terror and a bone-deep sorrow.

And then even that disappeared, so that there was only nothing.

 

Yuri stumbled toward Flynn, coughing and waving away the foggy mist from the smoke bomb Asta had detonated. All around him his friends did the same, the entire room a cage of blind confusion. Yuri cursed when he rammed his hip on the edge of something sharp, peering through the smoke, trying to make out shapes. He had to get to Flynn—that damned assassin could be going for him right now—

“ _Blade Roll!_ ”

An arc of electricity sizzled overhead, slicing through the smoke and dispersing it as cleanly as a strong wind. Over the coughs and confused noises, a familiar voice called out, “Is everyone all right?”

Karol was the first to turn around, face breaking into a grin. “Rita!”

The young mage strode quickly into the room, long chain looped between her hands. Yuri barely noticed her, though, as his gaze lit on two shapes resolving themselves from the smoke: one already glowing yellow with healing aer, the other lying motionless on the ground.

“Flynn!” He ran forward—noting only in passing that Asta had disappeared out the window—and dropped to his knees next to them. As Repede whined and ran worried circles around them, he reached out, gently turned Flynn onto his back, and couldn’t help but gasp when he saw the blood staining the front of his lover’s shirt. Some of it was from wounds Flynn had reopened while fighting off his attacker, but others seemed new—and concentrated dangerously close to his heart.

Next to him, Estelle struggled to speak, her healing artes pushed to their limit. “Something’s wrong,” she panted, “something’s different…”

“Let me see,” Raven said, coming around on Flynn’s other side. As Yuri watched, the older man took his dagger and carefully slit open Flynn’s shirt, pushing the fabric aside to reveal…

A low, shuddering moan sounded out, and Yuri barely realized it came from himself as he stared down at the mess of Flynn’s chest. Several new cuts had opened, bits of alderglass slowly forcing themselves out of his skin, but other injuries seemed deeper: angry red, almost welt-like wounds that hinted at something burrowing beneath Flynn’s skin, something working its way through his flesh. And if it reached the center…

Across from him, Raven made a low, grim sound. “It’s shrapnel,” he said. “I saw similar injuries during the war. The alderglass is slowly moving toward his heart. If we don’t stop it…”

Yuri shuddered and squeezed Flynn’s hand. He remembered Asta’s face right before he’d cast the smoke bomb: the way something dawned in his eyes when Flynn collapsed, the smug, knowing smile curling his lips. He knew. He knew his work would finish itself.

And, for the second time in as many minutes, ice-cold fear seized Yuri’s heart. He looked up at Estelle. “Please,” he whispered, and didn’t care that his voice shook so hard he barely got the word out. “Please help him.”

She nodded, eyes brimming with tears, but the exhaustion was evident even as she whispered, “I’m trying…I’m trying but it’s so hard, they’re buried so deep…”

“Leave them.” Schwann Oltorain’s calm voice drifted to them, and Yuri looked up to see Raven looking down at Flynn with grave eyes. “You can’t pull them out, not without risking his heart. Save your power for what you can heal.”

His words lit an inferno in Yuri’s heart, making him snarl. That bastard. Did he know _anything_ about what it was like to fear for someone so desperately loved? “How dare you—”

Raven’s hand flashed across Flynn’s body, fingers wrapping like steel cords around Yuri’s wrist as he reached without thought for his sword. Then the older man’s eyes flashed, and Yuri saw for the first time the worry, the genuine grief, and it calmed the fire enough so that when Raven continued, “He still has some time left,” Yuri was able to grit his teeth and look away and not separate his head from his body.

With a long sigh, Estelle dispersed her arte and her shoulders slumped with fatigue. From somewhere behind them, Karol piped up, voice sounding for the first time in a long time childish and lost. “How…How long?”

Raven released Yuri’s wrist and sat back on his haunches. “With this sort of damage…” He shook his head, and his eyes when he met Yuri’s shone with compassion. “A couple days at most.”

 _A couple days._ Yuri swallowed and looked down at Flynn, squeezing his hand and hoping Flynn could feel it. This was it, then. After years of fighting, laughing, and watching each other’s backs, of chasing and arguing and _loving_ in a way Yuri would never have thought himself capable of…this was all he had left. Forty-eight measly hours for Flynn—his friend, his lover, his _life_ —to fade away from him forever.

A heavy silence fell in the room as the gravity of the situation finally seemed to settle on everyone’s shoulders. At long last, Judith shifted, nothing but a soft rustle of cloth, and murmured, “Perhaps we should move him out of the castle.”

“Yeah!” Karol said, “It would make it harder for that guy to find him.”

Rita hummed. “Speaking of which, old man, you recognized him back there, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Raven rocked back on his heels, fixing Yuri with a long look. “His name’s Asta. Asta Sidher.”

Yuri closed his eyes. He remembered back to that warm night in Mantaic: the solid weight of his sword in his hand, Alin Sidher’s terrified face, his final plea for mercy: _Please, I beg you…my brother…_

Brother. A chill ran down Yuri’s spine so that he barely heard the rest of what Raven was saying.

“…served with Asta during the Great War. Back then, he made a name fer himself usin’ blastia bombs ta break through enemy lines.” He paused. “He was good in a fight, I’ll give ‘im that, but I never liked ‘im much. He…He seemed ta like it too much. Blowin’ people up, I mean.”

Estelle shook her head. “But why would someone like him want to kill Flynn?”

“Well.” Raven’s gaze didn’t stray from Yuri. “Might have somethin’ ta do with his family, best I can guess. Asta was discharged from the Knights after the war due ta suspicions o’ inhumane treatment. After that, his family was all he had left.”

Yuri cut his eyes away, looking instead down at Flynn’s face, drawn and pale. So it was revenge, then: in killing Alin Sidher, he had unwittingly brought the wrath of his unstable, bloodthirsty brother down on himself—and his friend had paid the price for it.

He remembered a time two years ago: a brittle shrine, a crazed, power-hungry Commandant, a flash of light and a shout and a shove, and the unmistakable tang of blood in the air. How much more would Flynn have to suffer for Yuri’s misdeeds?

How much was enough?

Something touched his wrist, gentle like a falling flower petal, and he looked up to see Estelle watching him with soft eyes. “Yuri,” she said, “you’ll need to let go if we’re going to move him.”

Yuri blinked when he realized he was still holding Flynn’s hand. The rest of the group had fallen silent, all eyes fixed on him, and Yuri all of a sudden felt scrutinized, laid bare and stretched out like a bug on a pin. He turned away from their gazes and, with one last squeeze to Flynn’s hand, forced his own fingers to loosen their grip.

“Okay,” he said, and thought it a miracle his voice only shook a little. “Let’s get him out of here.”

 

A few hours later found Yuri in his room above the Comet, his sword in one hand and a whetstone in the other. Through the thin walls he could just barely make out the low rumble of voices as the rest of the group settled into the room next door. The tavern keeper had been rather surprised when they turned up at her door in the wee hours of the morning, with Flynn concealed in a supply cart, no less. But people in the Lower Quarter had never been much for asking unnecessary questions, and Yuri had never been more grateful for the woman’s one-shouldered shrug and permission to take her rooms as long as was necessary.

The people of the Lower Quarter didn’t know everything about what had happened two years ago when the Adephagos had disappeared from the world. But they knew enough.

From his spot at the foot of the bed, Repede gave a soft whuff, a low growl rumbling up his throat even as his single eye remained firmly closed. He was probably dreaming of fighting monsters, and Yuri couldn’t help a small smile. The dog had remained distant during their entire journey down to the Lower Quarter, a clear sign Yuri hadn’t yet been forgiven. But he also hadn’t tried to bite Yuri again, so at least there was that. He hoped Repede would have enough pleasant dreams for both of them tonight.

Yuri himself hadn’t been able to catch a wink since they came here, and the reason for that was currently taking up all the space in the small bed like the idiot that he was. Flynn hadn’t woken, hadn’t even stirred as they’d loaded him into the cart, carefully covered him up with empty grain sacks, and rolled him down to the Comet. It was a testament to just how much defending himself against Asta earlier had weakened him: even now, lying peaceful and still beneath the covers of Yuri’s bed, there was no mistaking the gray pallor of his skin, the tight lines beneath his eyes.

Yuri hummed softly and ran the whetstone down the edge of his blade with a soft _shikk._ The instant the others had left him alone in the room, the ache had settled in his heart, a raw, overwhelming desire to crawl into the bed next to Flynn and just hold him close for a few hours, letting the steady rhythm of his lover’s heartbeat remind him that, even after everything, Flynn was still alive and _here_. But that wouldn’t hold true for much longer, and Yuri bore that thought with a sinking sensation, like his very heart were falling into an endless pit of darkness and grief. Flynn was here, his heart still beat, but it wouldn’t last.

It was why he’d ultimately forced himself to stay in the single rickety chair, even though the hard wood dug into his tailbone and the firm back made his spine ache. As much as he wanted to be as close to Flynn as possible, he couldn’t risk anything that would make the shrapnel move faster. Raven already expressed worry about Flynn being jostled during the ride here; Yuri wasn’t about to risk any more unnecessary aggravation of his friend’s wounds.

Two days at most, Raven had said, and the shrapnel would finally pierce Flynn’s heart. Two days, and Yuri’s lover would die.

Heat prickled at the corners of his eyes and Yuri quickly set his sword down. It wouldn’t do to cut himself on the blade through the blur of his tears; Flynn would never let him hear the end of it. _Amateur,_ his lover would say, before casting First Aid and brushing his lips gently over the new scar. _What would you do without me?_

The question made his heart ache.

The soft rustle of bedsheets sounded out like a gunshot in the room, jerking him from the morbid mess of his sorrowful thoughts. The whetstone hit the floor with a loud _thump_ , prompting a startled yelp from Repede but Yuri barely heard it, shooting out of his chair to approach the bed. He watched, holding his breath, as Flynn moved again, just a slight tilt of his head toward the dim light of the candle burning atop Yuri’s dresser. He let out a soft breath and his eyelids fluttered.

Swallowing hard, Yuri knelt by the bed and reached out to brush his fingers through soft blond hair. “Flynn?” he whispered, like the name was forbidden, sacred.

And, as if in answer to his prayer, Flynn made a tiny noise and slowly opened his eyes.

The bright ocean blue made Yuri’s breath catch in his throat. He watched as Flynn blinked, eyes flitting first to the candle and then to the door, before finally settling on Yuri. Then, very slowly, Flynn smiled. “Hi,” he said.

And Yuri didn’t need any more of an invitation. Relief settled solid in his bones as he bent down and pressed his lips to Flynn’s, feeling more than hearing his lover’s soft sigh as gentle fingers wove through his hair. It was a familiar sensation, a reminder of quieter, simpler times, and Yuri for a moment lost himself in the taste and touch of his lover, banishing thoughts of shrapnel and assassins and regret in the wake of Flynn’s kisses and soft caresses.

They were interrupted by an insistent bark, followed by the impatient click of nails on hardwood. Yuri pulled back from Flynn and turned to see Repede watching them with a steady look, and sighed. “Yeah, all right.”

He’d barely moved back when Repede streaked by, heaving his front paws up on the bed as he licked at Flynn’s face, tail wagging as he made happy little whuffing noises. Yuri couldn’t conceal his smile. It was the first time Repede had been able to greet Flynn since the attack on the castle; he couldn’t blame the dog for his puppy-like affection.

Flynn, for his part, just chuckled, smoothing a hand down Repede’s back. “Hey, boy. Yeah, I’m glad I’m awake too.”

He reached up to scratch Repede’s ear, then abruptly winced, pressing a hand to his chest. “ _Ow_ —what…?”

Repede whined, nosing gently at Flynn’s chest. Yuri swallowed and clenched his fists as he watched Flynn undo the buttons of his shirt, staring down in horror at the mess of tiny welts around his heart. When Flynn lifted his head, his blue eyes were frightened for perhaps the first time since Repede lost his eye. “Yuri, what—what is this?”

“It…” Yuri took a step forward. Repede obediently hopped off the bed as he sank down onto its edge, looking down at the floor. “It’s shrapnel. From the bomb.”

A long silence. When at last Flynn spoke, his voice was soft and tremulous with the weight of realization. “So then…that means…”

He didn’t finish, and Yuri didn’t answer. The quiet dragged out, broken only by Repede’s soft whine as he circled three times and lay down in the corner. His single eye shone bright in the dim light, watching them like a scared child. Yuri couldn’t fault him for it. Looking down at his hands—calloused, rough, strong, and now utterly useless—he found he felt very much the same.

At long last, Flynn shifted and let out a breath. “What…What about the assassin?”

His voice was soft, trembling on the last word. The knife-edge of grief broke Yuri’s heart, but he forced himself to answer Flynn’s question. Anything to distract him from the truth right now. “His name is Asta. He’s…Alin Sidher’s older brother.”

“I see.” A soft rustle as Flynn’s fingers curled in his blanket. “So what’s the plan?”

Yuri managed a shrug and a tiny smile, though his heart wasn’t in it. “Oh, you know, the usual: find the guy, let him do his evil monologue, then kill him.”

And ordinarily, Flynn would have laughed. Would have rolled his eyes and punched Yuri in the shoulder and said, with that long-suffering, exasperated smile, _Would you be serious for once?_

But he didn’t do that now. Silence stretched between them, heavy like an oncoming storm. And what scared Yuri the most, what made his heart go cold like a lump of ice in his chest, was what awaited him on the other side of that thunderous hurricane: guilt, loneliness, sorrow…and _no Flynn._

From his spot in the corner, Repede whimpered, a quiet little noise of distress. Then, abruptly, Flynn shifted and brushed his fingers over the back of Yuri’s hand. “No,” he said.

Yuri blinked, turning to look at him, and saw Flynn’s face was set, grim with determination and a sad, resigned acceptance. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly strong. “No more,” he continued.

“What do you mean?”

In response, Flynn intertwined their fingers, bringing Yuri’s hand up to brush a soft kiss over his knuckles. His blue eyes when he met Yuri’s gaze shone with sadness and fear, but underneath all that an unmistakable current of strong, steadfast love.

“Promise me, Yuri,” he murmured, eyes never straying from Yuri’s. “From now on, no more people will fall to your justice.”

His words sent a confused mix of fear, relief, and anger shuddering down Yuri’s spine. He tried to draw his hand back but his lover held fast. “He tried to _kill_ you, Flynn.”

“I know.” Flynn rubbed a soothing thumb over Yuri’s wrist, and in spite of himself, he found himself calming, his body reacting to his lover’s soft touch more naturally than any commanding officer’s order. “But I don’t want Asta Sidher’s death to be my legacy. Do you?”

And _that_ hurt to hear, especially when Yuri realized it was true. There was no doubt he wanted to avenge Flynn, and the best way to do that was to put his sword through Asta’s heart…but was that how he wanted to remember Flynn? Did he want to see that smug bastard’s face every time he thought of his lover?

Flynn shifted again, a bare, humorless smile gracing his face. “I could make it my final request,” he murmured.

“No, don’t—don’t _say_ that, Flynn.” Yuri tugged on their joined hands, scooting closer to rest his head in the crook of Flynn’s shoulder. His lover smelled vaguely of sweat, blood, and healing gels, but underneath all that was the sunshine and steel that was unmistakably Flynn, everything Yuri had ever come to associate with _home._ “Just…please don’t.”

Flynn hummed, a deep rumble in his chest that Yuri felt more than heard. Soft fingers carded through his hair, gentle and loving as always. “Then you promise?” Flynn murmured.

Yuri sighed, and if the sound came out a little choked, if he felt the telltale heat of saltwater running down his cheeks, neither one of them said anything about it. “Okay,” he whispered instead, into the soft silence of the night. “I promise.”

For Flynn, he would do this. For Flynn, anything.

 

The moon rose a sorrowful sentry over the sleeping city of Zaphias. The cold silence of night settled over the area, citizens seeking refuge from the darkness in their beds and their families. The quiet was broken only by the soft howl of stray dogs and the occasional clink of armor from patrolling Knights. And, crouched in the shadows of the roof of a nondescript shop in the Public Quarter, Asta Sidher had never felt more enraged.

He was supposed to be there. He was supposed to witness Scifo’s slow death, was supposed savor the pain on Lowell’s face as the life faded from his lover’s eyes. Damnit, for Alin, he was supposed to _finish it._

Instead, he’d lost them. He still couldn’t figure out how they’d managed to escape from the castle unnoticed, but he supposed the chaos in the wake of his attack had left plenty of loose ends and open back doors for the group to slip through. But Asta had been searching for hours, scuttling from roof to roof as he strained his eyes for any sign of Lowell or the pathetic group of peasants calling themselves his friends. And so far, nothing.

He knew they had to be in the Lower Quarter somewhere. That was where Lowell and Scifo were originally from, after all, so it made sense they would hide there. But he didn’t remember the place being so _big_ —even as children, when he and Alin came down from the Public Quarter to stare at the slumfolk like guests at a zoo, it had always seemed smaller, poorer, _simpler._

Of course, back then he hadn’t been trying to _kill_ one of the poor scumdiggers.

Asta snarled, curling his fingers around his bomb-maker. The machine warmed to his touch, humming against his skin like soothing words from a lover, and he took a deep breath, willing himself to center, to focus. Remember Alin. Alin was the reason for this: he had to stay focused on his goal, so that his brother could be avenged.

And, as if the spirit of his brother himself came to his aid, an idea blossomed in his mind.

If he couldn’t find Lowell in this maze, then he would just have to smoke the rat out. He would make Lowell come to him…and he would make him rue the day he had first heard the name Sidher.

 

He woke to the soft sounds of morning: the tavern keeper’s voice as she chatted with customers, the soft _clink_ of pots and pans, the shrieking laughter of children through the closed window. Sunlight played on his skin, a gentle warmth as if to welcome the day. Yuri yawned and slowly sat up, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes as he looked around the room.

Lying next to him, Flynn was still fast asleep. In the corner, Repede made little huffing noises as he tried to scratch an itch by rubbing his back against the floor, four paws dangling in the air without a care for his usual propriety. Yuri smiled and shook his head, glancing out the window at the bright blue sky overhead. It had to be sometime in the mid-morning.

Turning, he clasped Flynn’s shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Hey.”

His lover didn’t respond; just lay there, motionless. Cold settled like a stone in Yuri’s stomach. In the corner, Repede paused his movements and flipped upright, eye shining.

Yuri swallowed and shook harder. “Flynn. Wake up.”

But still Flynn just lay there. His eyes stayed closed, and Yuri saw that his skin had gone even paler overnight, white like death, and he all of a sudden couldn’t breathe. “ _Flynn!_ ”

Repede barked, loud, and Flynn gasped, eyes flying open for a second before scrunching shut again in pain. Yuri didn’t even bother hiding his soft moan of relief as he gathered his lover gently to him, stroking through soft blond hair. “Stars, Flynn, I thought you _died_.”

“S-Sorry,” Flynn answered into the crook of his neck. His eyes were slightly glazed from pain and sickness, and his fingers scrabbled weakly at Yuri’s shirt, struggling to find purchase in the soft cloth. “It hurts, Yuri…”

“I know.” Yuri gently pushed the collar of Flynn’s shirt aside, biting down against a fresh wave of tears when he saw the welts had deepened, several of them now mere centimeters from Flynn’s heart. The skin all around Flynn’s chest was an angry, flaming red, as if his body itself was furious at its powerlessness to fight against the alderglass.

Still pressed close, Flynn took a couple of deep, trembling breaths, fingers shaking with strain as they curled weakly around Yuri’s arm. “I’ll fight it,” he whispered, and Yuri bit his lip because there was no way he should sound this tired, this beaten down, “as long as I can.”

“I’ll fight too,” he answered, even though he had no idea how. The alderglass was beyond his reach; no amount of skill with the sword or sarcastic taunting remarks would save his lover now. He reached up and gently traced the scar on Flynn’s cheek with one finger. Repede came up to the bed, sat back on his haunches, and gave a long, mournful howl.

Yuri didn’t know how long they sat there, all three of them wrapped up in the shroud of their grief. Flynn’s entire body trembled against his, breaths coming short and fast, and Yuri thought he felt colder already, the life beginning to seep out of him in invisible wisps and he tightened his grip, burying his nose in Flynn’s hair. _Not like this. Please, not like this…_

Pounding footsteps up the stairs before someone knocked on the door. “Yuri?”

Yuri ignored it, clutching Flynn tighter. Karol could wait. The rest of the world could wait.

Another knock, more urgent this time. When Karol spoke again, his voice betrayed worry and alarm even muffled through the door. “Yuri, _please!_ It’s an emergency!”

That made Flynn raise his head. “You need to get that,” he said, watching Yuri quietly.

Yuri shook his head. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It does.” A tiny smile curled the corner of Flynn’s lips, pained but genuine. He leaned forward and kissed him. “Go,” he murmured into Yuri’s mouth.

And Yuri couldn’t refuse him. Sighing, he squeezed Flynn’s hand and forced himself from the bed. Each step as he crossed the room seemed heavy and slow, as if lead weights had been strapped to his feet.

Karol darted into the room as soon as Yuri opened the door, nearly tripping over Repede as he spun on Yuri. “That Asta guy is in the square,” he cried, without preamble.

Repede growled at the mention of the assassin’s name. Flynn coughed, the sound weak and wet. “What…does he want?”

“He…” Karol’s grip tightened on the handle of his axe until the knuckles were white. “He’s planted explosives all over the Lower Quarter. Yuri, he says if you don’t come out and meet him, he’s gonna blow everybody up.”

Silence fell in the room. A cold chill whispered down Yuri’s spine. No, it had to be a mistake. Asta was lying. How could he have managed to plant so many bombs in just a few hours? There was no way—

But then he remembered the man the last time he’d seen him: the cold, determined gleam in his eyes as he’d rushed at Flynn in that room in the castle, dagger drawn. And, with a certainty that settled in his stomach like a stone, Yuri knew. Asta wasn’t lying. He was going to kill everyone in the Lower Quarter: Hanks and Ted and the tavern keeper, the countless children who played and sparred around the fountain every day, the store owners, the gardeners, the laborers…all because of Yuri.

This was so much bigger than just Flynn, now.

Behind him, bedsheets rustled and he turned to see Flynn with one hand on the bedpost, attempting to push himself to his feet despite Repede’s worried attempts to butt him back into place with his nose. Though his knees wobbled and sweat beaded on his face with the effort, his blue eyes were determined. “I’ll g—”

“No.” Yuri shook his head and reached for his sword. “Asta wants me, not you, and you’re in no condition to fight.”

“Yuri.” And that was Flynn’s arguing voice, so Yuri turned in the middle of picking up his sheath and fixed Flynn with a long look. _Not you,_ he tried to say, putting everything into sending the burning message into his lover’s eyes. _You’ve given enough. It’s time for me to fight for both of us._

They watched each other for a long time. Repede whined and lay down, tail curled worriedly between his legs for the first time in years. Karol shifted his axe from one hand to the other and cleared his throat. “Yuri, we have to hurry,” he whispered.

Then, at last, Flynn sighed. Something crumpled in his expression, making pain lance through Yuri’s heart. He choked it down and forced himself to watch calmly as his lover sat back on the bed, one hand rubbing gently at his chest. “All right,” Flynn said then soft. “Just…be careful.”

Yuri nodded, shoulders sagging with relief. “I’ll be back. Just…” He swallowed as the grief returned, drawing his voice tight like a vibrating bowstring. “Just don’t go anywhere, okay?” _Don’t leave without saying goodbye._

Flynn nodded, his smile tremulous. “Deal.”

Turning away from his lover was the hardest thing he had ever done, but Yuri did it. As he exited the room and shut the door quietly behind him, he tried to focus on the promise in Flynn’s voice. Flynn wouldn’t leave, not yet. And Yuri had business to take care of.

 

He left Karol and Repede to guard Flynn, and Judith asked to stay behind as well. The Krityan hadn’t gotten much time to catch up with Flynn during the last hectic twenty-four hours, and Yuri couldn’t refuse the sad look in her eyes. His lover didn’t belong to him alone.

Rita wound her chain around her knuckles as they jogged toward the square. “Wait until I get my hands on that bastard,” she muttered, green eyes flashing dark. Yuri agreed wholeheartedly.

Familiar voices greeted them as they approached the central fountain.

“…do this, Asta,” said Raven.

“Please, _think_ about all the people you’ll hurt!” Estelle added.

They were standing near the edge of the square, surrounded by a gaggle of Lower Quarter citizens. In the middle, seated casually on the edge of the fountain, Asta Sidher tilted his head. His scarf hung loose around his neck, forgotten, and as Yuri approached he saw for the first time that the man carried a strange contraption hanging from a strap that ran across his shoulders: it looked almost like a transparent drum, ticking softly as it glowed with an unnatural light.

The assassin ignored both Raven and Estelle, but something flashed in his eyes when Yuri approached. He rose to his feet as smoothly as a cat, dusting invisible lint off his pants. “Yuri Lowell,” he said, and his smile was like a snake’s. “At last.”

“Yuri!” Estelle ran to him, distress carving lines into her delicate features. “Thank goodness you came! You can talk some sense into him, can’t you?”

“I doubt it,” Raven growled. “He’s never been the sensible type.”

Yuri glanced at Asta, the fury and hatred boiling in his veins when all the man did in response was smile. Then he looked at Estelle. “Have you started evacuating yet?”

Rita stepped up beside him, shaking his head. “There’s no time,” she said. “If the blast radius is anything like the bomb he put in Flynn’s office, there’s no way we could get everyone out.”

“Well observed, Ms. Mordio,” said Asta. He strolled up to them, stopping a few feet away, and without thinking about it Yuri’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. “I’d expect nothing less from a genius mage.”

Yuri turned to him at last, baring his teeth as he sized Asta up. This was the man who had hurt Flynn. This was the man who had taken everything from him.

He took a deep breath and forced the tremor from his voice as he asked, “What do you want?”

“Well.” Asta tilted his head, gloved fingers tracing the rim of the strange device hanging from his shoulders. “At first I was just going to blow up the entire Lower Quarter in the hopes I’d take you with it.” Then his fingers migrated to rest on the handle of a long dagger tied to his belt. “But I decided I was tired of playing games. You don’t get to hide behind Scifo anymore. You will face me head-on to answer for your crimes.”

Next to him, Estelle stiffened. “Crimes…?” she whispered, but Yuri ignored her, stepping forward.

“All right,” he said, and tossed his sheath out into the distance, taking comfort in the familiar feel of his sword. “You wanna settle this, then let’s settle it.”

“Damn straight,” Rita said, stepping up, but Asta frowned.

“No,” he said. “Just Lowell. I have no quarrel with the rest of you.”

“No qu—?” Raven coughed out a disbelieving laugh. “The second-in-command o’ the Imperial Knights is dead ‘cause o’ you!”

“A shame, truly,” Asta answered, in a voice that suggested he didn’t find it a shame at all. “But my demand stands.” He tapped the contraption at his waist almost playfully. “If you wish to test my resolve in this matter, I’d be more than happy to blow up a few blocks to prove my point.”

The sounds of uncomfortable shifting. Yuri shook his head and didn’t look at the others as he said, “Stay back. I’ll handle this.”

To their credit, no one tried to argue with him. They knew Asta meant business. The man in question smirked at his victory, tapping the dull edge of his dagger against his thigh. “Well, Lowell,” he said, “Shall we get started?”

Yuri stepped forward and raised his sword, peering down its gleaming blade at Asta’s sneering face. He took a deep breath. “For Flynn.”

And Asta didn’t need a second invitation. He shot forward, covering the distance between them in an eye-blink, and Yuri barely had time to bring his sword up to block the man’s first blow. Steel sang against steel and he stumbled back, pivoting to his right to dodge the second swipe of Asta’s dagger.

The other man was back on him instantly, and as they fought from one end of the square to the other it soon became clear that the stories of his exploits during the Great War hadn’t been exaggerated. Asta fought with a soldier’s fury, every move calculated with the professionalism of a trained killer, and Yuri found himself stumbling for the first time, barely able to keep up as Asta rained blows down on him like a righteous storm.

He made a clumsy block, caught off-balance by the force of Asta’s last strike, and something flashed out of the corner of his vision—his world suddenly exploded in white, pain erupting in the side of his face as the other man’s fist smashed into his cheek. The world spun and the ground slammed into him with the force of an oncoming truck. Somewhere in the distance he heard Estelle cry out his name but he was already struggling to his feet, peering through the haze of pain to see Asta descending upon him, dagger raised—

He kicked out, more on instinct than anything else. His boot caught Asta square in the stomach and the assassin went flying back, rolling a few times on the ground and Yuri saw his advantage, grabbed his sword and ran at him—

Battle reflexes honed by years of fighting monsters and bandits alerted him to the movement of Asta’s hand to his belt, and Yuri ducked sideways just as Sidher’s brother threw something at him. It looked like an orb, about the size of a golf ball and glowing soft blue, and he swung his sword in a sharp arc, a metallic _clink_ sounding out as he batted it away into the air—

The orb exploded. The shock punched him in the chest and knocked him back to the ground. Someone screamed. A few feet away, Yuri saw Asta snarl, hand flying once again to his belt and, somehow, Yuri knew he couldn’t let them get close. Leaping to his feet, he launched himself forward without thinking, using his sword to knock aside the orbs as Asta threw them at him, hearing only as an echo the sound of explosions and more screaming as he gained on Asta, the bastard who had killed Sodia, who had tried to kill _Flynn_ , Yuri would make him _pay for what he’d done—_

“Yuri!” Estelle cried but Yuri ignored her, leaping at Asta. He saw the shock come over the assassin’s face, saw the rising terror and took comfort in it. Let him be scared. Let him fear for his life. Asta hadn’t given Flynn that consideration.

The dagger dropped to the floor as Asta stumbled back, but Yuri didn’t stop. He barreled into the other man, using the momentum to send them both tumbling to the hard ground, and even as Estelle and the others continued to scream at him he didn’t stop, just grabbed his blade and raised it, staring into Asta’s terrified face as he plunged it down with merciless finality.

Screams and gasps all around. Yuri’s arm ached as a shudder ran up his sword from the force of its impact with the stone below. His head barely two inches away from the blade, Asta stared up at him, face entirely devoid of color, eyes opened so wide Yuri could see the whites all around.

“Yuri!” There came a soft ringing noise as Estelle dropped the forcefield she’d thrown up to protect onlookers from Asta’s bombs. Delicate footsteps ran up to him as a gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Yuri, are you all right?”

Taking a deep breath, Yuri wrapped his fingers around the handle of his blade, drawing it out of the ground with a single quick yank. The metal shrieked against stone as it yielded, and he didn’t miss Asta’s wince, or the way the other man’s eyes followed the weapon as it slowly drew away from him.

He tossed the sword away and fixed Asta with a hard glare. Adrenaline still pumped through his body, making everything seem overly-sharp and tense, and Yuri clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking as he said, “I’m sorry.”

Silence. Asta stared at him from his spot on the ground, confusion furrowing his brow even as he panted for breath. Yuri shook his head. “I don’t regret killing your brother,” he whispered, “but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the pain I caused you.”

Asta finally pushed himself to his feet. There came a commotion near the edge of the square, and they all turned to see LeBlanc push his way through the crowd, flanked by several other Knights. “What’s going on here?” the tall man demanded.

Asta grit his teeth and turned back to Yuri. “Why didn’t you finish it?” he hissed.

Yuri just sighed, feeling all of a sudden very tired, and very old. How was Flynn doing? He needed to get back to the Comet.

He turned and took a step forward, but was stopped by Asta’s shout. “Answer me, Lowell!”

Yuri didn’t reply immediately. Next to him, Estelle swallowed and touched his arm, expression lost. “Yuri?” she whispered.

Yuri straightened his shoulders. Without turning around, he said, “I made a promise.”

Somewhere behind him, Asta drew in a shaking breath. Yuri ignored it and continued on. He was about halfway across the square when Asta spoke up again. “Wait,” he said, and perhaps for the first time, he sounded subdued.

Yuri turned around. The assassin currently stood surrounded by LeBlanc and the Knights, but his shoulders were straight and his eyes, when he looked at Yuri, were steady. As they watched, Asta reached down for the contraption hanging from his shoulders, tapping an odd sequence into a panel on its side. The glow from before faded, and the ticking stopped.

“I’ve disabled the explosives,” Asta said, as he pulled the strap over his head. “Here.” Rita made a surprised noise as the device was suddenly tossed to her, but Asta’s gaze never strayed from Yuri’s. “I use this to make my bombs,” he said. “It operates on the theory of magnetism. I’ve never tried reverse-engineering it before, but maybe your genius mage can figure out how to use it to save Scifo.”

And it was ridiculous how quickly the lump formed in Yuri’s throat. Thankfully, Raven stepped forward before he could say anything. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice was genuine.

Asta stepped back, allowing LeBlanc to seize his arm. His expression as he continued staring at Yuri wasn’t compassionate, per se, but it was soft with the knowledge of a secret they shared. “I’m not doing this for you,” he murmured, before fading into the ranks of the Knights.

Yuri was left with only the silence, broken by the murmurs of the townsfolk as they shifted around them, some just beginning to realize how close they’d come. Next to him, Rita studied Asta’s device, turning it this way and that so that the clear glass winked in the sunlight. “I don’t know what this is,” she muttered, poking at it with a careful finger. “Maybe if I had more time…”

But they didn’t. They had a day, maybe less. And Yuri would be damned if he spent another minute of it out here, away from the one he loved.

“I’m going back to Flynn,” he said, and hurried away.

 

The room was eerily quiet when Yuri finally mounted the steps up the side of the Comet. Just outside the door, Judith gave him a small, faltering smile as she stood guard. Yuri didn’t have the heart to return it.

Karol got to his feet as soon as the door opened. “Oh, Yuri,” he said, but didn’t try for anything more.

Yuri wouldn’t have heard him anyway, too focused on Flynn. His friend was sitting up in bed, help up only because Repede sat half in his lap, using his own body as support. The dog turned upon his entrance and gave a high-pitched whine. The sound made Flynn stir, taking a slow, shuddering breath as he lifted his head just enough to blink at Yuri with glassy eyes. “Oh…you’re back.”

His voice sounded wrecked, and it was clear the effort just to speak cost him dearly. Yuri swallowed, giving Repede a grateful nod as the dog slid off the bed to allow him room to sit. He reached forward instinctively, and Flynn somehow managed to lift his arm enough to meet him, their fingers intertwining tight.

From somewhere behind him, Karol sniffed and said, in a voice dangerously close to tears, “I’ll give you some time alone.”

The door clicked shut behind him and Yuri sighed, gently tugging Flynn forward so that their foreheads touched, breaths mingling in shared air. This close, he could see the pallor of Flynn’s skin, the tremble in his every movement: undeniable hints of his oncoming death.

Flynn huffed out a tiny laugh, strained with effort. “Looks like…you got your ass handed to you.”

Soft fingers touched Yuri’s cheek, making the nerves there smart. Yuri smiled, even though it hurt. “Yeah, well, you should see the other guy.” He was sure to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow.

Flynn frowned then, fingers pausing in their exploration. “Did you…?”

“No.” Yuri took his hand and kissed it. “I promised, didn’t I? He’s in custody now.”

“Good.” Flynn sighed, eyes falling slowly closed. “Didn’t want…to have to argue with him…in the afterlife.”

And Yuri wanted to laugh at that, but couldn’t. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to laugh again, or even smile—not when Flynn would take everything bright and beautiful in Yuri’s world with him when he passed.

He thought about telling him about Asta’s device, and how Rita was even now tearing it apart downstairs in search of a solution to the shrapnel in Flynn’s body. But ultimately he decided against it. It wouldn’t do to give Flynn false hope now, and it would just waste the time they had left. And right now, Yuri found that time more precious than anything else in the world, because every minute that passed was one more lost to the dismal countdown of Flynn’s heart.

“Flynn.” The name trembled on his tongue, and Yuri ducked his head, pressing his lover close. “I…I don’t want to lose you.”

And it seemed, even after yesterday, he still had some tears left. They spilled hot over his cheeks, burning fire-trails along his skin, and in the corner Repede began to cry too, soft, heart-breaking whimpers like a dying animal. Yuri tightened his hold. “Please, Flynn…”

Flynn sighed against his neck, soft and shaky. “I love you,” he whispered. It sounded like _Goodbye._

Then, all of a sudden, the door flew open and Rita ran in. “I have something!” she shouted.

Yuri snapped his head up. Repede gave a bark that was half-startle, half-growl. Flynn squeezed his hand but didn’t move from where his head was tucked into Yuri’s shoulder.

The young mage strode up to them, holding up Asta’s device. Behind her, Estelle, Raven, Judith, and Karol all piled into the room, and the open, unabashed _hope_ on their faces made something unfurl in Yuri’s chest, a flickering warmth for the first time in what felt like forever. “What do you mean?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

In response, Rita set the contraption down on the table, producing a screwdriver from somewhere within the folds of her cloak and setting to work on its outer piece. “The construction of this thing is ingenious,” she said, half to Yuri, half to herself, “but I managed to figure it out. And I think if I can reverse the polarity and divert power through the auxiliary coil—”

“Basically, she thinks she can use the machine to draw the shrapnel out of Flynn’s body,” Estelle said.

Yuri’s heart leaped into his throat, and even Flynn stirred a little at that, lifting his head to blink slowly up at them. “H…How?”

Rita just shook her head. “We’ll need to operate immediately,” she said. “Estelle and Raven, you’ll help me—we’ll need healing artes, and I might be able to use Raven’s blastia heart to power the machine if it quits on me. But everyone else has to leave so I can concentrate. I have to…” She swallowed and paused in her movements. “I have to be able to do this right the first time.”

 _Or he’ll die,_ went unspoken. Slow shifting all around. Then Judith said, in a small voice, “What about Yuri?”

A meaningful silence settled in the room as everyone’s eyes turned to him. Rita’s expression faltered for a moment, doubt and sorrow flickering beneath the façade as she fixed him with a look that shone with an uncharacteristic compassion. “You need to go too,” she whispered. “It’s not ideal, but…I need as little distraction as possible.”

And Yuri understood that, of course he did. It didn’t make it any easier, though. Repede whined, turning in agitated circles, and Yuri turned to Flynn, squeezing his hand. “Flynn?”

His lover met his gaze and they watched each other for a moment. The pure, unbridled love in Flynn’s eyes made Yuri’s heart do funny things in his chest, and he hoped Flynn saw it returned in his smile. The way Flynn’s eyes lightened, happiness laced with pain, showed he probably did.

“Okay,” Flynn said then, and moved to draw his hand back—and Yuri leaned forward and kissed him.

There were a couple gasps in the room and Estelle gave a surprised, “Oh!” but Yuri hardly heard them, losing himself in his lover’s familiar taste. Flynn, after stiffening in surprise in the beginning, responded immediately, fingers curling weakly in Yuri’s long hair as he kissed back with everything he had, years of affection and friendship and endless love communicated in the touch of their lips. Yuri threw himself into remembering Flynn, just _feeling_ him for a moment, and couldn’t even feel guilty. It was high time everyone knew. What he and Flynn had was nothing to be ashamed of.

When they pulled back from each other at last, Flynn’s eyes were distinctly wet. He pressed a thumb to Yuri’s bottom lip, and his smile, though wobbly, was real. “See you on the other side,” he whispered.

Yuri swallowed, staring at Flynn, burning his lover’s features into his brain. “You can bet on it,” he answered.

And then, before he could talk himself out of it, before the raging, burning thing inside him could take over and demand he grab Flynn and never let go and damn the rest of the world, Yuri rose from the bed and turned away. Every step was an effort, his body crying out for him to turn around and run back to Flynn like a planet helpless against the sun’s gravity, but Yuri fought it, forcing himself to continue on. The rest of the group parted before him without a word and he was glad for that, knowing that if any of them tried to stop him—if, gods forbid, _Flynn_ asked him to stay…

But he didn’t. He said nothing, and Yuri had never loved him more as he finally made it to the door, stumbling into the hallway and collapsing against the wall like a puppet whose strings had been cut. And in a way, it was true. Flynn was Yuri’s connection to this world, the steady rock that would always bring Yuri back no matter how far he drifted. Without Flynn, he was lost. Without Flynn, he was nothing.

If his lover died tonight, Yuri would go with him.

With that last thought lighting a fire in his heart, he wrapped his arms around his knees, ducked his head, and resolved to wait.

 

One by one, the others said their goodbyes and let themselves out of the room. None of them tried to talk to Yuri as they made their way down the hall. He had never been more grateful for that.

A few minutes later, he was jolted from half-formed thoughts of Flynn by a soft whine. Lifting his head, he saw Repede watching him from across the hall. The dog clutched his former master’s pipe between his teeth like a lifeline, ears flattened back in distress, and for perhaps the first time in his life he seemed unsure of what to do, alternately scooting forward on his paws and then scrambling back as if afraid Yuri would strike him. Yuri watched the display for all of ten seconds before opening his arms. “Come here.”

Repede didn’t need to be told twice. A bark and a flash of blue fur, and Yuri found himself with an armful of dog, Repede’s entire body trembling as he pressed against Yuri’s chest, finally seeking the comfort he’d been too proud and angry to ask for before. Yuri grasped the loop of Repede’s thick chain with one hand, the fingers of the other curling in coarse fur. “It’s okay,” he whispered, and didn’t know which one of them he was trying to comfort. “Flynn’s gonna be okay. Just you wait.”

And that’s what they did. They curled into each other in the hallway, clinging to each other for support as they awaited news of their third pack member. It wasn’t long before the familiar warmth of Estelle’s healing artes leaked through the door, and Yuri thought he made out Rita’s voice a couple times. His entire body tensed even though he couldn’t make out what she was saying. Were they saving Flynn?

Was he even still here, on this world?

It seemed an eternity passed as they waited in the silence of the hallway. All around them, the noises of the Lower Quarter continued on: the shouts of children and the murmur of adults, the trickle of running water, the clapping of shopkeepers as they advertised their wares. Everything was so peaceful, so normal. Yuri didn’t feel any of it.

He buried his face in Repede’s fur and tried to blank out his mind, but only succeeded in throwing up more images of blond hair and laughing blue eyes. _Please,_ he thought, and didn’t know who he was praying to but hoped they listened anyway. _I’ve lost so much already. Please don’t take him away from me too._

A sudden cold rushed into his bones as the warmth of Estelle’s artes faded away. A few seconds later, the _click_ of the door opening sounded out like an explosion and Yuri actually jumped, tightening his grip around Repede as he looked up.

A soft strip of light spilled across the hardwood, warm and inviting an instant before Rita stepped out. The mage looked exhausted, lines of fatigue scoring her face like wind marks, but there was something in her eyes when she turned to look at Yuri…something like hope.

Repede whimpered and pushed closer, snout buried in Yuri’s shoulder. He barely felt it, struggling for the breath to ask, “Flynn?”

And when Rita smiled, something in Yuri unraveled, melted into joy and honey-warm relief as the young mage tugged at her goggles and said, “It worked. He’s gonna be okay.”

And, just like that, the light returned to Yuri’s world: the brightness and joy that had always been Flynn’s sun. Flynn was okay. He’d chosen to stay.

He’d barely released his grip on Repede before the dog was moving, and Rita went down with a thump, her surprised yelp melting into breathless laughter as Repede licked at her face, tail wagging so hard it shook his entire body. Yuri, too, found himself laughing, and it felt good, it felt _right_. Stepping forward, he gently nudged Repede aside with his foot and offered Rita a hand. “Sorry. Now you know what I have to deal with all the time.”

Rita managed an indignant sputter, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed how it was mostly for show as she took Yuri’s hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Stupid mutt. Always knew he was a—Yuri?”

But Yuri just hugged Rita closer, ignoring the way the mage’s spine stiffened in surprise. “Thank you,” he whispered.

He felt more than heard Rita swallow against him. “Yeah, yeah,” she managed, although it came out a little choked. “Don’t think I won’t cash this in later.” But there was no mistaking the way her fingers tightened just briefly around Yuri’s shoulders before she pulled away, wiping suspiciously at her eyes as she said, “You might as well go keep him company. Otherwise Raven’ll give him nightmares for sure.”

Yuri chuckled at that and nodded, pausing long enough to watch Rita go down the stairs before heading for the door.

When he finally nudged it open, it was to the sight of Raven helping a tired-looking Estelle out of the chair. Both looked up upon his entrance, and Estelle was the first to smile. “Yuri,” she said, and Yuri stepped forward, letting her fall into his arms.

For a moment they just stood there, Estelle sagging against his chest. Next to the chair, Raven scratched his chin, expression light as always, but there was no mistaking the relief in his voice as he said, “Our Rita’s a real miracle worker. Flynn’ll be asleep fer a while yet, but he’ll survive.”

Estelle hummed, finally lifting her head. “We got all the shrapnel out,” she said. “I still don’t know how Rita did it, but…” The rest was lost in a yawn, and Raven chuckled, stepping forward.

“All right, time fer this one ta get some rest,” he said, and gently took Estelle by the arm. He smiled at Yuri then, warm and soft. “We’ll leave you two ta catch up.” And, with a lazy salute, he and Estelle were gone, door clicking shut softly behind them.

That left just Yuri, Repede, and Flynn. The dog was already next to the bed, nosing softly at the small figure lying motionless beneath the covers, and Yuri swallowed as he approached, fearing what he would see. He needn’t have been afraid, though. The man now sleeping peacefully on the bed was a far cry from the injured, dying invalid from just a few hours ago: though Flynn didn’t stir as Yuri brushed fingers through his hair, there was no mistaking the healthy flush to his skin, or the scattering of light pink scars over his chest that was all that was left of the shrapnel.

Flynn would live. Yuri’s lover, stubborn as always, was in it for the long haul.

Next to him Repede wuffed softly, bumping his nose affectionately against Yuri’s calf. Yuri smiled, reaching down to scratch behind the dog’s ears before carefully pulling the covers back and lowering himself onto the bed next to Flynn. It had always been a tight fit and left his ass hanging off the edge but Yuri couldn’t bring himself to care, resting his head gently on Flynn’s recently-healed chest, taking comfort in the strong, steady heartbeat thudding in his ears.

He stayed like that for the next few hours, drifting in and out of sleep to the steady rhythm of Flynn’s heartbeat. At one point, Repede let himself out of the room, and every time Yuri heard approaching voices cut off by a soft bark, he knew the dog was protecting their privacy. He resolved then and there to cook Repede a steak the first chance he got. Maybe he’d even let Flynn help.

And, as if on cue, the body beneath his shifted. A soft breath sounded out an instant before gentle fingers settled in his hair. “Mm. Hello.”

Yuri lifted his head then, smiling into tired blue eyes. “Hey, Flynn. Welcome back.”

Flynn hummed as the corner of his lip tugged up. “I take it I’m not dead, since this can’t be heaven if you’re here to pester me.”

Yuri laughed at that, breathless around the relief bursting in his chest. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He leaned forward then and Flynn met him halfway, their kiss as warm and passionate as the first time. And, Yuri realized, that was kind of what it was, now.

Flynn was the first to pull back, turning to squint at the fading rays of sunlight spilling through the window. “Huh. Where are the others?”

“They’re around. Repede’s been guarding us.”

“Oh. You know he deserves a steak, right? …Why are you laughing?”

But Yuri just shook his head, settling into the crook of Flynn’s arm where he belonged, where he always should have been. “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you later.”

“‘Kay.” The word turned into a yawn, and Yuri gently tangled their legs together.

“You should go back to sleep. You need to rest.”

“Mm. In a minute. I kind of like this.”

And the sad thing was, Yuri kind of did too. He had never been the cuddler in their relationship, always finding prolonged physical closeness too hot, or too intimate, or too trapped. But now, after having come so close to losing Flynn forever…Yuri wasn’t sure he was ever going to let Flynn out of this bed.

Not that his lover seemed to mind, if the way he hummed and traced nonsense patterns into Yuri’s skin was any indication. “So when do you go back to Dahngrest?”

The question caught Yuri off guard, so that he had to blink for a couple moments. Dahngrest, Brave Vesperia, the endless guild jobs…he hadn’t even thought of that. Right now, wrapped up in the safety of Flynn’s arms, his other life seemed all of a sudden very far away, like a dream he’d awoken from not too long ago.

And Yuri found, with a sudden jolt, that he didn’t _want_ to go. It was silly, perhaps, but everything in his body sang for him to stay here, to take up residence with Flynn in Zaphias so that he could have his lover close every day, so that he would never again feel that bone-chilling fear when he’d first heard news of the attack in Dahngrest. It was a dumb notion, he knew, to turn his back on everything he and the others had risked so much to achieve; it was rash, ridiculous, the musings of a lovestruck fool, but…

But was it really?

Dahngrest wasn’t his home; _Flynn_ was. His guild wasn’t his family; that was right here in this room. And the Lower Quarter…he’d grown up here. They knew him; they _loved_ him, just as much as Flynn did.

After all these years, wasn’t it time he came home for good?

His silence must have stretched longer than he intended because Flynn shifted, lifting his head to blink at him. “Yuri?” he asked.

Yuri hummed and raised up, propping his head on one elbow so he could look down at Flynn. “You remember when you said last month how you were thinking of buying a house in the Lower Quarter?”

Flynn blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic, but rolled with it as he always did. “Sure. I’m still thinking about it, actually. There’s a place just a few blocks from the marketplace, with an attached stable so I could get a quietta and commute to work.”

Yuri smiled, reaching out to trace Flynn’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Think they’re okay with dogs?” he asked.

He saw it the instant Flynn caught on: the way his expression went slack with a mixture of surprise, happiness, and complete confusion. It was pretty endearing, all things considered, and served only to cement Yuri’s resolve even as Flynn tilted his head and said, “Yuri. You do remember you have a life of your own, right?”

“Sure,” Yuri answered, then ducked his head a little because damn it, he could feel his cheeks heating. “It’s just…that life, up until now, hasn’t included you. And after what happened these last couple days…I kind of really want you in it.” He licked his lips and looked up at Flynn. “Permanently.”

And there was no mistaking the flicker of joy in Flynn’s eyes, even as he frowned and asked, “But what would you do? There are no guilds in Zaphias.”

He shrugged. “Whatever needs to be done, I guess. The Lower Quarter never had a problem with me before; I don’t see why they should start now.”

Flynn pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. Yuri left him to it for a moment before finally flicking him in the forehead. “What’s on your mind, Commandant? You don’t like my suggestion?”

He said it jokingly, but something in his chest tensed up all the same. If Flynn had doubts about this, if he wasn’t quite ready for this next step in their relationship…

But in the next instant Flynn leaned forward and kissed him, just a chaste press of lips before pulling back with a warm smile. “It’s not that,” he said, and Yuri allowed himself to bathe in relief for a moment. “I’d really like you to stay in Zaphias with me. It’s just…I had a thought, is all.”

“Dangerous, that.”

“Shut up.” Flynn smacked him lightly in the shoulder, before his expression turned serious. “It’s just…um.” He fiddled with a lock of Yuri’s hair, before finally taking a breath and seeming to force the words out of his mouth. “I happen to know recruitment season for the Knights starts in two months.”

Yuri stared. Outside the door, footsteps approached—Repede barked and a voice that was distinctly Raven’s yelped and said, “All right, all right!” and quickly faded down the hallway again.

Next to him, Flynn shifted, touching a finger to Yuri’s chin. “It, uh. It was just a suggestion.”

“I know.” And, gods help him, but for some reason Yuri was actually _thinking_ about it. A few years ago he would have brushed the idea off with a laugh and a shake of his head, but that was before Flynn became Commandant, before he began changing things. And seeing how far the Knights had come in just two short years…

_We promised we’d fight. We’d fight to make people smile._

Was it too late for that dream?

“Flynn.” He took a deep breath, and fixed his lover with a long look. “I…I can’t give you an answer now. There’s too much of…there’s just too much.” Flynn nodded, made to say something, but Yuri stopped him with a finger to his lips. “Just let me think about it, okay? Give me some time, and I’ll have an answer for you eventually.”

And, though he expected Flynn to protest, his lover just nodded, taking Yuri’s hand and kissing each of his fingers separately. “I’ll wait for you, Yuri,” he whispered, and his smile was like the sun. “No matter what.”

And Yuri knew, even as he was drawn into another kiss, that no matter his answer, he and Flynn would never be apart again.

 

EPILOGUE

 

Flynn really should _lock_ the damned window.

He’d been in meetings all day—the Empire-wide rollout of mana technology required no less—and the last thing he needed was the cold draft of winter blowing through his office the instant he walked in. The figure currently slouched in his chair behind the desk didn’t seem to mind, though. “Evening, Commandant.”

Flynn rolled his eyes as he crossed the room to stoke the fire. “You know you’d command a lot more respect if you actually used the door.”

Yuri just shrugged. “Yeah, but what would be the fun in that?”

He couldn’t help smiling at that. What, indeed. A lot of things had changed about Yuri in the six years since they’d settled together in Zaphias, but his apparent inability to enter the palace through normal routes certainly hadn’t.

“Anyway,” Yuri said, rising smoothly out of the chair and coming over to the fireplace, “how was your Council meeting?”

“As productive as I’d hoped,” Flynn answered, turning just long enough to press his lips to Yuri’s own before reaching up to undo the clasp of his ceremonial cape. He hated the damned thing but it was a formality the Council preferred. “Since the mana trials in the Lower Quarter have been so successful, they’re thinking a full rollout’s possible by the end of the winter.”

“That’s good to hear.” Warm, sword-calloused fingers gently brushed his aside to unclasp the complicated buckle in a matter of seconds. “We’ll have to split the work between multiple divisions, though, since Eralen’s deployed to Hypionia and LeBlanc and Miramar are still dealing with that sewer drainage problem from last week.”

“Mm.” Flynn smiled, allowing his cape to be pulled off and tossed over a nearby chair. “Careful, Yuri. You almost sound like you know what you’re doing.”

Yuri just laughed at that. “Yeah, and I’m a Krityan to boot,” he said, before handing Flynn his regular sword. “You all set?”

“Yeah.” Flynn tied the sword to his belt and smiled. “Let’s go home.”

The journey down to the Lower Quarter was quiet and calm, Zaphian citizens occasionally pausing to give them respectful bows which they quickly returned. Their cloaks kept out the worst of the winter cold, but that didn’t stop Flynn from reaching for Yuri’s hand as soon as they cleared the castle grounds, tracing the metal band on his ring finger with the ease of frequent practice. That earned him a sideways glance and a soft chuckle. “You keep acting like you put this on me yesterday and not a year ago.”

Flynn just shrugged. “Indulge me.”

“Don’t I always?”

He shot Yuri another smile at that, and they continued on for a few more blocks before clanking armor and swift footsteps approached them from behind. “Captain!”

They both turned. Almost immediately, though, Flynn smiled and shook his head, nodding at his husband. “You’re up,” he said.

Yuri rolled his eyes, but it didn’t stop him from squeezing Flynn’s hand as he turned to his lieutenant. “Report, Kilin.”

Clothed in the signature black-and-silver of the Lowell Brigade, Kilin snapped them both a stiff salute. “Captain, Commandant,” she said, “Sirs. Sentries at the eastern gate report a group of monsters approaching the city. A couple dozen, at least.”

Yuri hummed. “Well, it is that season. Where’s Andel and his squad?”

“Sir. Lieutenant Andel is currently caught up clearing the city’s sewers.” Kilin clicked her heels. “My squad, however, is ready for your orders, sir.”

“Hm.” Yuri rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. Flynn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d always been able to read his husband like an open book, and he had an idea where this was going.

“Hey, Kilin,” Yuri said, after a moment.

“Sir?”

“Have you ever seen the Commandant fight?”

And Flynn _did_ roll his eyes at that, although the young lieutenant didn’t seem to notice, confusion written all over her face at the sudden change of topic. “Uh…no, sir, I don’t think so? I can’t really remember.”

“That’s funny, because I can’t either.” Yuri turned to Flynn with a grin just this side of wicked. “So what do you say, _sir?_ Wanna stretch those old muscles for a bit?”

Flynn blew out a breath and tried his best to sound annoyed, even though he could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Need I remind you, _Captain,_ that I can dock your pay for insubordination?”

Yuri just shrugged. “S’not like we don’t share an account anyway.”

“Um, sir?” Kilin looked between the two of them, expression adorably lost. “Monsters? Orders?”

Yuri chuckled. “Right.” Then he straightened, moonlight glinting off armor that fit him like he’d always been meant to wear it, captain’s stripes clear and resplendent in the colors of the brigade he commanded. “The Commandant and I will accompany you to the eastern gate. Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir!”

They tailed her through the Public Quarter, and as they approached the gates Flynn felt the adrenaline rush through his veins, anticipation of the battle ahead setting his blood alight. It was true he hadn’t had much occasion to fight in the field over the past few years—things were peaceful now, the world changed just as he and Yuri wanted it—but that didn’t mean he’d lost the feeling, the unabashed joy that sang through him every time he drew his blade. From the way Yuri smiled next to him, bright and clear, his husband felt the same way.

“Open the gates,” Flynn ordered as soon as they pulled up to the massive outer wall, “and shut them again as soon as we’re through.”

The sentries, all wearing Yuri’s colors—the Lowell Brigade, after all, was in charge of city defense—blinked at him in confusion. “Sir…?”

But Yuri just smiled, tossing his sheath into the darkness. “You heard the Commandant.”

And Yuri’s soldiers were trained well; the Knights quickly obeyed. Massive hinges groaned as the gates swung open, and they charged through without hesitation, the vast green field opening up before them like a calm sea.

…Well, not entirely calm. A gathering of stormclouds approached in the distance, a cloud of pounding hooves, sharp claws, and rancid breath. Flynn drew his sword, hefting its familiar weight in his hand. He didn’t bother counting the monsters. It didn’t matter how many there were, as long as Yuri was by his side.

As if reading his thoughts, Yuri came up to him, smile bright and beautiful as always as he lifted his blade. “Think you’ll beat me this time?” he asked, mischief in his voice.

Flynn grinned and tapped his sword against Yuri’s, steel blades ringing out bright as a bell in the darkness. “Count on it.”

The ground began to rumble and shake as the monsters approached, their bloodthirsty roars filling the air. Yuri didn’t falter, his smile a steady beacon of hope, loyalty, and love.

“Follow me,” he said, and turned toward the horde.

“Always,” Flynn answered, and leaped forward.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that, technically, Flynn should at least have suffered a mild TBI or have tinnitus or something from the explosion. But hey, Yuri _basically fell off a mountain into the sea_ and was okay after that, so I'm just gonna assume Terca Lumireis's inhabitants are surprisingly hardy.
> 
>  **Regarding translations:** All my works, including this one, can be translated without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything other than translations, please ask first. Thanks.


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